


Hang Over Me

by blackrosedrippingred



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blindfolds, Cheating, F/M, Infidelity, Light Bondage, Mostly Canon Compliant, Mutual Pining, PTSD, Past Relationships, Post-War, Romance, Rope Bondage, Smut, So much angst, Tie Kink, mild dirty talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:20:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 64,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24069520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackrosedrippingred/pseuds/blackrosedrippingred
Summary: After a chance encounter, Draco and Hermione are forced to relive the history of their tumultuous relationship, spanning a ten year absence, over the course of one unpredictable evening. (Mostly canon compliant, post-war. Warning: Cheating/infidelity)
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 61
Kudos: 255
Collections: Dramione Fics That Live In My Head Rent Free, Got me in my feelings <3





	1. Part I

_"You know it won't be like this forever," Hermione's breath fanned over the cold glass as the rain continued to pour just outside. She was leaning against the right wall of the nook in their common room, her legs crossed together. It was the only comfortable position given the soreness of her sex. She could still feel the ache of him stretching her on every thrust and the phantom imprint of his fingers lingering on her hips from when he held her down to suck at her clit. He could be quite the ruthless lover._

_Draco shifted under the thick blanket, his back to the left wall of that very same nook, skin brushing against skin to incite a rush of warmth through her._

_"What do you mean?" His arms were folded over his chest, confusion crossing his flushed features._

_"When we leave here," she pressed her fingertips against the glass, fitting them into the still warm handprint she had left there just moments before. Merlin, he was always so rough when he took her from behind, but her body's satiation gave away that she certainly wasn't complaining about it._

_"Things will change," her voice was soft, despondent, "They'll go back to normal."_

_"What's normal?" Draco snorted, furrowing his brows as he studied what she allowed him to see of her face. She appeared contemplative in a melancholy way that he was so unused to seeing from her. She had long been the one to pull him out of such a place, but never the one to live in it._

_Her hand was almost white from the pressure with which she pushed it against the glass, as though she were trying to sear its memory upon the window. Nobody knew what went on in the Heads' dormitory, but she herself needed proof that it had happened, that the last four months weren't some induced dream. If that proof was only a mark on the window, so be it. That was all she needed._

_He could just note the slight tremor present in her wrist from the force of her efforts and so he prodded her again, "Hermione?"_

_He only used her first name when he was gravely serious about a subject. Speaking her last name had become something of a playful jab that he even invoked while they were lost in the throes of passion. She spared him a glance finally, and let her arm fall to her side, defeated almost. His eyes flicked briefly to the window where the print of her fingers slowly began to fade._

_He found his proof elsewhere._

_"Hating each other," she mused, her fingers twisting in her lap. Her breasts heaved ever so slightly with her breath, her nipples still pert and reddened from his attention._

_She always had this look about her, he thought, after they had sex. She always appeared perfectly disheveled. She glowed, yes, as most people do after sex, but she also looked so - mussed. Her cheeks were peppered with red, her skin marred by teeth and mouth, her lips swollen, her hair somehow even more tangled and unruly. And her eyes, he thought, his gaze locking with hers, there was something so profoundly_ sad _there. It was so unusual to look into her large brown orbs and not see that burning fire of hope and determination and defiance threatening to swallow him._

_No, in those moments, moments like the one they were in, just after sex, still coming down from their orgastic high, that fire was gone. What had he done, he wondered, to cause that flame to dull?_

_"We don't hate each other," he said curtly, watching her eyes widen ever so slightly. Even in the fading light and the glow of the fire, she could still see the purpled skin bruised by her lips at his neck, the divots carved by her teeth on his shoulders, the paths paved by her nails down his chest. She supposed she was just as unforgiving in her pursuit of pleasure, of him. She snapped her eyes back to his; silver like steel, with an intensity to match, "We're meant to, Granger, but we don't."_

_"Hm," the corners of her swollen lips turned up into a smile._

* * *

With the excitement in her life, one might think Hermione Granger would be bored to tears by endless meetings about regulations and ordinances, but after all that had happened, she found the structure to be just what she needed. It was refreshing to hear her colleagues drone on about initiatives to protect the rights of magical creatures or to spend her time campaigning for additional funding for said initiatives in a room full of Ministry bureaucrats. It was where she felt she could make the most difference, to work for a better world.

While many of her fellow classmates had gone on to become Aurors, a career deserving of the courageous witches and wizards she had fought alongside in the war, Hermione had gone straight to the Ministry of Magic to begin the long journey that would eventually lead her to the position of Minister. Of course, that was years away and though it was always in her sights, she never let it distract her from enjoying her current career. It was also why Hermione had chosen to return to Hogwarts and finish out her seventh year after the war.

She had at first feared it might be a terribly lonesome year as many of her friends, especially those she was closest to, had elected to not return to school. But Hermione had always finished what she started and the last thing she was willing to cut corners on was her education. Still, she had found her final year at Hogwarts to not be without its challenges. Where, at the start, she thought she might have one normal year at school, she had been dreadfully wrong.

Now, almost a decade gone, she found herself thinking about that time less and less, or at least successfully blocking out all of the parts she didn't wish to remember.

"Malfoy?" She stopped dead in the hallway, still clutching her stack of reports, as she caught sight of the pale-haired man in the dark suit. He looked up at the sound of her voice.

"Granger," he responded with restrained familiarity and turned to a man she didn't recognize, "Excuse me."

He strolled towards her, carefully, as though he were thinking about every step he took.

"What are you doing here?" The note of accusation in her tone was not lost on him.

"Working," he replied flatly, "And you?"

"You don't work at the Ministry," her brows furrowed. She certainly didn't know everyone in the vast network that was her office building, but somebody like Draco Malfoy would not have gone unnoticed by her.

"I am working _with_ them," he gestured to the pile of papers in her arms that he very obviously made no move to help her with, "I take it you're very busy so I won't keep you any longer."

"Wait," she called out as he started to walk away. She strode towards him quickly, "How long will you be here?"

"I was just leaving, actually," he ambled, glancing up at the bustle around them.

"No," she corrected herself, "What I mean is how long will you be working with the Ministry?"

His brows furrowed, lips tightening to a thin line.

"What department are you in?"

"Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

A bemused smirk crossed his angular face.

"Of course," he stuffed his hands in his pockets and gave her a pointed look, "My affairs don't concern your department."

Hermione frowned, eyes narrowing as he took a step closer to her.

"If it bothers you - ,"

"Of course not," she said haughtily, dropping her gaze to his right pocket where she knew his thumb was twitching, as it did when he found himself in a less than favorable situation. Her hardened heart softened at the thought, the simple action rattling the lock she'd so carefully placed on their time together, "You look well, Malfoy."

He exhaled through his nostrils, an expulsive laugh.

"I'm fine, Granger, don't worry about me."

"I never said I was," she tried to hide her amusement by turning her head until her smile vanished. A still silence followed her comment, but neither seemed eager to move. Finally, he heaved a sigh and asked,

"Do you know of any pubs around here? I need a drink."

"Well, of course, there's - ,"

" _Muggle_ pubs," he clarified.

"Oh," though his expression gave nothing away, she could see the truth in his eyes, the weariness and sorrow that had made its home there, "There's one about a block from here, on the corner. I can't remember the name, but it's got a red awning with a white bird on it."

"Thanks," he nodded, pausing for a moment as he looked her over noticeably, "Good to see you, Granger."

He turned from her, shoulders hunched ever so slightly as he began to walk away.

"You, too, Malfoy."

* * *

_"I didn't know that you'd never - "_

_"I know, Malfoy. That was the point."_

_"Why didn't you tell me?"_

_"For exactly this reason," she snapped, rounding on him as he continued to follow her towards their bathroom in the dormitory. His eyes settled on that little cut on her lip, "I didn't want to make a thing of it."_

_"If you had told me, I could have made it - "_

_"Special?" Hermione quirked a brow, humor evident in her eyes. She folded her arms over her chest._

_"Spectacular," he bit out._

_"Oh?" She said with a smirk, "If you'd known then you'd have really tried to impress me?"_

_"I could have made you more comfortable," he griped._

_"It didn't mean anything to me, Draco!" she yelled, frustrated, "It's just sex! What does it matter if it was my first or hundredth time?"_

_"Wouldn't you want it to be special?"_

_"Was yours?" She questioned, but after the words left her mouth, she realized she was genuinely curious. Hermione pinned him under her gaze, fingers digging into her forearms. She wouldn't let him get away without an answer, never one to pass up an opportunity to humble Draco Malfoy._

_"It was remarkably unspectacular," he admitted, nodding as he understood her point, "In fact, I don't remember much of it and I don't really wish to."_

_"What makes you think this is any different?"_

_"_ I _want you to remember it," he said boldly. Now, it was his turn to fix her with that gripping stare until she spoke._

_"Afraid I won't recall that one time we had sex at school in ten years when I'm married with children?" She smirked, "Or are you afraid I won't remember you, the boy who gave me my first time?"_

_His eyes narrowed as he stepped towards her in two long strides. She was almost trapped between his frame and the wall, but he kept a measured distance between them. His head bowed as he whispered,_

_"I can give you more than that, Granger."_

_She narrowed her eyes, a silent challenge present in their exchange._

* * *

It was after she had reread the contract before her for the umpteenth time in the hopes of actually retaining some of its contents that she finally allowed herself to wonder what Draco Malfoy was doing at that moment. The poor sod was probably seated at the bar by himself, his second or third drink in hand.

Hermione raked a hand through her hair, shaking loose her ponytail.

A _muggle_ pub. Of all places, she thought. Under other circumstances, she'd find the concept amusing - Draco Malfoy mingling with muggles as he downs a pint, ha! - but she'd seen such a look in his eyes before. Those silver orbs had been dulled by the ceaseless tormenting of his past. Her chest constricted and she cursed herself for being so empathetic to him.

_After all these years._

She glanced at her watch. It had only been a couple hours, maybe he was still there. She stood slowly, her faulty resolve being pulled in opposing directions. She could just go and check on him, then finish her reports in the morning. She didn't need to stay and have a drink, but he was something of an old friend and she owed it to him to make sure he was okay.

Well, she didn't owe him, but maybe she owed it to herself. Maybe there was something unresolved within her that had been stewing for the last ten years. Maybe seeing him again would rectify that.

 _Wishful thinking_ , a little voice in the back of her mind said.

Hermione shook her head. She wasn't stupid, she couldn't fool herself.

But she also couldn't stop herself from grabbing her coat, locking up her office and proceeding out of the Ministry into the harsh winter air. Snow wafted around her, kicking up at her feet as she stormed through the frozen streets of London. She had passed the pub so many times that finding it amidst the blizzard was easy. What was difficult, was looking through its wide windows to see that same pale-haired man in the dark suit still occupying its space. Even amongst a room full of witches and wizards, he had always stood out, but watching him sit, surrounded by muggles, well, it was a sight to behold.

Her bare fingers were like a vice around the door handle, until she was forced to step aside for a group of people making their way out. His head snapped up at the sound of the door and caught sight of her standing at the threshold. She swallowed thickly and stepped inside; there was no use turning back if he had already spotted her.

"Granger," he said as she approached the bar, twisting his stool around, "Fancy seeing you here."

"Fancy that," she responded, cheeks burning from the cold and the unease of their proximity.

"Can I get you something?"

"No," she unbuttoned her coat, shucking it off, and set her beaded handbag on the counter before sitting next to him, "I won't be long."

"Shame," he took a healthy swig from his near empty glass. She watched his throat as he swallowed generously, then lifted her eyes to the tinge of pink present in his skin, "These muggles are poor company."

"It's not them, it's you," she said frankly.

He winced at her words and finished off his glass, calling over to the bartender for another one. She took the empty glass and sniffed it. Whiskey. Once he had been refilled and the bartender was out of earshot, she asked,

"How do you intend to pay for this?"

"I thought I might just," he waved his hand, imitating how he would hold his wand, "You know."

"Brilliant plan," she commended him facetiously, "The only thing more genius is you telling a ministry worker about it."

"If anyone locks me up, it ought to be you," his words were slurred ever so slightly, but his stare was immovable.

"You know I'd love nothing more," her throat felt thick as the words left her. She didn't like this. She didn't want to be so mean to him, so defensive in front of him, like they were when they were kids.

It felt _unnatural._

"If you're not drinking, why did you come?"

She sighed, resting an elbow on the bar as she watched him drink from his glass.

"To check on you," she said honestly, "You seem," she paused as he cocked an eyebrow at her. He looked more amused the longer the silence stretched on and it only succeeded in angering her, "Upset."

"I'm upset?" He scoffed and raised the glass to his lips. She put her hand up to stop him.

"You don't belong here, Draco," she saw him tense and his eyes snapped to hers.

"I don't belong anywhere, _Granger_ ," he spat, adamant about maintaining their verbal distance.

"So you'll sit around and drink and feel sorry for yourself then?"

"It was working until you showed up," he freed the glass from her and killed it in one go.

"Is this what you've been doing?" She swallowed harshly, "All this time?"

Draco shrugged.

"It comes and it goes," a sideways glance of those silver eyes pinned her, "Seeing you was a setback though."

She couldn't even find it in her to retort after hearing the bitterness in his words. She looked away from him, to the bartender he was motioning towards them.

"I'll have the same," Hermione said with a restrained smile, gesturing to the glass being refilled. Draco made a face, an expression that suggested he had known she would cave and have that drink with him. Then again, he had always seemed to know what she would do before she did it. When they were alone again, save for the genial chatter that surrounded them, she said, "You think I was expecting to run into you today?"

"Unpleasant surprise, wasn't it?"

She wanted to wipe that damn smirk off his face.

"Certainly the worst thing that's happened in recent memory."

"Buggar off," he shook his head at her, then seemed to catch sight of her bag for the first time that night. A humorless laugh fell from his mouth, "Still keep that around, I see."

Hermione placed a hand over it protectively, sliding it closer to her.

"You should call it a night, Malfoy," she said sternly.

"Why are you here?" He snapped, "If you've just come to lecture me, I can go to my mother for that, thanks."

"As long as you listen to one of us," Hermione sipped her drink slowly. The burn of the whiskey was a welcome distraction from the discomfort of being so close to him. He ignored her quip, staring blankly ahead at the pictures behind the bar, the still images of patrons come and gone.

"Tell me, Granger, what's it like working at the Ministry?"

"It's interesting," she said slowly, then a soft smile spread over her lips. The first one all night, "Good. Not what I imagined it to be, but at the same time it's so much more than I thought I could ever do. There's a lot of bureaucracy, but I still feel like I'm making a difference. It's important to me."

"How honorable of you."

"Mm," she shook her head, "Not in the slightest. Not when everyone else went on to become Aurors."

"Didn't fancy that career path I take it?"

She shook her head and eyed him inquisitively.

"What do you do?"

"Are you sure you want to know?" Hermione furrowed her brows at the question. He turned to look at her, silver orbs slipping, unable to grasp a single point of fixation, "It's very boring."

"Malfoy," she chided him, taking another drink, "It's like you don't even know me."

He chuckled and tapped his thumb on the counter.

"I'm a consultant," he finally said, "I aid public and private organizations, like the Ministry, in the discovery and destruction of objects and factions involving the dark arts."

"Does your family know what you do?"

"Funny, Granger," he said snidely, "My father has no opinion which means he very much disapproves, but as far as I and the rest of the world are concerned, he no longer has a leg to stand on when it comes to passing judgement. As for my mother, she's happy when I'm happy."

"I see," Hermione nodded slowly, "So you and your father still talk?"

"What is it you want to know, Granger?" He snapped suddenly.

"Malfoy, I only meant - ,"

"The answer's no. In fact, we haven't spoken since last Holiday," he killed his drink and ordered another.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, "I know it was never easy with him. I can only imagine how difficult it is now," she paused, unsure of what she actually did want to know, "After all these years."

"It doesn't matter," Malfoy sneered, "I'm paying my dues."

"That's never what it was about, Draco," She frowned as she watched him, his eyes trained on the rippling liquid in his glass. It was despairing for her to see him in such a state. Though she would never admit it, she'd rather see him at his usual level of confidence and pompousness. It was difficult to reconcile this broken man with the one she had known for so many years. It reminded her of how he'd been during their seventh year and, despite her hopefulness, it broke her heart all over again.

Noting the look on her face, because he knew that look and had seen it on her many times before, he spoke harshly,

"Don't worry about me, Granger."

"You know I can't help it," she teased, desperate to infuse some levity into the conversation, "I've seen what you're like on your own."

"No, you haven't," he grinned, playing along, "Because you were always there to take care of me."

"That's very true," she laughed and it brought a smile to his weary face, "Who's taken up that post now?"

She had meant it purely as a joke, but once the words left her, she knew she was anxious to know the answer. She shouldn't be, she reprimanded herself, but she couldn't help it. Who was looking into those deceptive eyes? Who was holding him in the middle of the night when he couldn't sleep? Who was feeling the near oppressive pleasure of his touch?

If not her, then who?

"Just ask me, Granger," she watched his smirk, but in her peripheral she could see his fingers inching towards hers on the bar, the glint of the ring bearing his family crest catching her eye. She pulled her hands back, folding them in her lap, and watched that smirk falter.

"So your father's not sold you off, yet?"

Malfoy chuckled and took a sip from his glass.

"He couldn't get rid of me if he tried. Nobody wants a Malfoy these days."

"It's not your fault," she glowered.

"I did enough," he shrugged, but there was no frivolity to the action.

She couldn't argue with him and instead drained the contents of her glass. The bartender came over before she could even raise her hand.

* * *

_He was different after that. His horror at learning that he'd taken her first time had seemed to trigger something within him. Whether that something was a baser, primal need to imprint himself upon her, or whether he simply and truly felt bad, she couldn't deny that their dynamic had changed. Since starting their seventh year pitted together in a single dormitory as Head Girl and Boy, they had certainly become more comfortable around each other, amenable even, out of nothing else other than a desire to make their own lives as painless as possible._

_It was no secret to either of them that they had been paired for a reason. It made sense, in fact. Not only was it a show of good faith towards one of Hogwarts' most troubled students, a sign that anyone, given the opportunity, could change and grow for the better, but it was also her influence upon him that they were counting on. If anybody could help rehabilitate the prodigal son of a Death Eater, keeping him on the straight and narrow, it was Hermione Granger. She supposed he had come to understand much the same not long after they began living together, adopting an almost interminable tolerance to her presence as they fulfilled their duties around the grounds._

_But now Draco was different. One might think he were doting on her. Of course, she didn't particularly mind. This seemed to be a whole new side of Draco, one that was almost caring, humble, and self-aware. She hadn't know him to have that in his capacity. Dare she say, it almost attracted her._

_"Granger," her tired eyes lifted from the parchment in front of her to see him holding two cups, "I made too much. Do you want it?"_

_"Thank you," she nodded gratefully and took the tea from his hand. As she drank gluttonously, she realized he had used her tea bags. She hid a smirk behind the porcelain, then watched with a curious eye as she saw his thumb tapping his own cup._

_On another occasion, after she'd had a particularly long night of studying, she found him feeding Crookshanks. He had refused to meet her eyes and called her cat a "mangey git," but shrugged as he said,_

_"You seemed busy."_

_"Thank you, Draco," she smiled at him, a genuine smile for perhaps the first time since they'd met._

_And then there was that night when she'd caught him on the Quidditch Pitch after hours._

* * *

"Aren't you lonely?" She stroked the rim of her glass, cheeks pinked by the flood of alcohol in her system.

"All the time," he nodded, staring at the notches in the wood of the bar. Her posture slumped under the weight of his answer. She wasn't responsible for him and never had been, but she couldn't deny the ache within her, that echo of what had been lost, that mirror that reflected her own flaws. She was burdened by his sorrow, as well as hers, "At least since you left."

Hermione blanched, a flurry of anger and denial and accusation stirring within her.

"That's not fair," her voice was nearing a fatal timbre. In his own bitter angst, he had taken a cheap, undeserved shot at her. His thumb resumed its tapping as he dared a glance at her. He knew it wasn't fair, but he had said it anyway. Her eyes were fire and he was certain that if they were alone, she would have hit him again, "You can't blame that on me."

"It's easier if there's somebody to point my finger at," he pushed his drink away, the glass only half empty.

"Yeah, easier when that person doesn't see the finger too, isn't it?" She spat, "You think I haven't - ,"

His gaze whipped to her and she stopped herself.

"Have you?" Draco's lips quirked involuntarily. She studied him carefully, unwilling to speak further in that moment. His brows were screwed tight in concentration, his eyes alighted for the first time that night, shining the way they used to when they were alone together, but his hands were tensed, fingers fisted as he grappled for control over himself. Hermione rested her chin on her open palm.

She wished she didn't know him so well. She wished she could still see him as the bully from her formative years, not the man that had been groomed his entire life for a task that he, through his baser nature, would never have been capable of. She wished she couldn't see the pain so clearly in every part of him. She wished she didn't know that look, the one that he was giving her now, the one that felt as though he were reaching straight into her chest to grasp whatever he had left of her heart.

She wished she didn't like to know him so well.

"That's not fair," she repeated, softer this time.

He nodded, setting his shoulders back.

"You're right," he murmured, "You always are."

"Please," she rebuffed the comment, "You're terrible at flattery."

"Oh, you think I was flattering you?" He grinned at her, sharp eyes boring into hers, "I mean that in the worst possible way: you are _always_ right."

Hermione bristled and turned away from him, downing the rest of her drink. She noticed he still hadn't touched the remainder of his.

"What are you waiting for, Draco?" She stared at her empty glass, stomach churning from anticipation, apprehension, and alcohol; a dangerous mixture that had her inching closer to an edge she couldn't come back from.

"Fishing for a compliment?" He quipped.

"Don't," she warned him, still not meeting his gaze, "What are you waiting for?"

He exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair.

"Nothing," he said, "I'm just drinking."

"Maybe you should go h - ,"

"Merlin, Hermione," he snapped, hands splaying on the counter. He was laughing almost hysterically as he said, "I'm fine. I'm _fine_."

She closed her eyes, chewing her lip as she inhaled deeply to calm herself. He was as infuriating as ever. He pretended to be blind to his own misery and then rebuffed her for caring.

She didn't care, she told herself. She _didn't_.

"It doesn't bother you that ten years later you're worse off than you were before?" She asked incredulously.

"Get off your horse," he grumbled, finally taking the last of his drink and swallowing it in one gulp.

"That's rich," she barked at him.

"Oh yes, we all know what a prick I was."

"Are."

"Thank you."

There was a beat of silence before they laughed quietly to each other. She had missed this. She hated to admit it, was still in denial about it, but she had missed this. Beneath all the cruel words they exchanged, there was an honesty there, a history that had been concluded before they'd had a chance to explore it. But now, for the first time in years, she found herself wondering, again, what could have been.

* * *

_She knew it was bound to happen, that it was only a matter of time, that one of these nights he would blow her and their responsibilities off._

How typical _, she thought, as she began to make the evening rounds by herself. It had just rained hours before so she was stuck trudging through the muck outside, alone. It wasn't until she had made her way to the Quidditch pitch, that she realized where he had been. The light of a wand zipping through the air alerted her to its occupancy. She stormed over that way, ready to tell a first year off for their infraction._

_"Hey!" She yelled into the air, cupping her hands around her mouth. The blur slowed and she saw Draco gliding down on his broom towards her. Her brows scrunched together as she said, annoyed, "You could have just told me you didn't want to do rounds tonight instead of having me wait around for you."_

_He was silent as his feet skimmed the ground, still hovering slightly._

_"Look," she huffed, "If it's just easier for me to do this on my own, that's fine."_

_"It's one night, Granger," he sounded exhausted as he spoke, eyes churning as he looked at her._

_"Responsibilities don't stop just because you want them to," she placed her hands on her hips as she glared at him, "You don't get to blow it off because you don't feel like it."_

_"You never turn it off, do you?" He spat._

_"What?" She balked at him._

_"That bossy attitude of yours."_

_"_ My _attitude?" She questioned incredulously, "You've never been anything but a twat to me."_

_The word seemed so foreign coming from her mouth that he burst out laughing. Her cheeks were hot with embarrassment and anger as she watched him double over before her._

_"Call me a twat again," he chuckled. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, lips tightening like she had tasted something sour. Grumbling, she looked away from him and said,_

_"Twat."_

_His smirk grew the longer she refused to meet his eyes._

_"Again," he entreated her._

_"You utter and complete twat!" She yelled, chest heaving from the strength of her voice. He leaned back slightly, one hand tightening on the handle of his broom._

_"You're terrifying, you know that, Granger?"_

_"Good," she straightened herself, "Now get back inside or I'll report you."_

_"No," he stared her down, a shimmer to his argent eyes. Then, he extended a hand towards her and nodded his head, "Come on."_

_"Absolutely not," she scoffed._

_"It'll be much quicker this way," his long fingers beckoned her forward._

_"I'm not doing it," she said adamantly._

_"Humor me, Granger," his expression hardened, the shadows around them seeming to creep onto his face. She regarded him carefully, the hairs on the nape of her neck standing to attention._

_"I - I can't."_

_His outstretched hand curled into a fist, falling to his side. He swung his leg over, dismounting his broom. She hadn't voiced it, but he knew what she was thinking, what they were thinking: that night during the war, in the Room of Requirements, when Harry on his broom had been the only thing between Malfoy and an untimely death._

_"I understand," he said softly, causing her eyes to snap to his._

_"How could you?" She asked bitterly, "How could you possibly know?"_

_"I lost people that night, too," he gritted his teeth, aware of how undeserving his grief was, but at the same time too destroyed by it to care._

_"Death Eaters," she breathed, exasperated._

_"Friends and family," he corrected her, "Just like you."_

_His voice broke on the last word and she watched him swallow past a lump that swelled in his throat. She bowed her head. Silenced by his words. For a long moment, they stood still, hardly a few steps between them, as the world around them continued to move, the call of the creatures in the Forbidden Forest the only cadence to their quiet exchange. Then, she heard the slosh of the mud beneath his shoes and raised her eyes. His back was to her, walking off towards the castle with his broom._

_"Draco," she called out, "Are you all right?"_

_He tossed her a short glance over his shoulder._

_"No."_

_She ran after him, taking long strides to keep up with his naturally broad gait._

_"Why did you do it, Hermione?" his voice was raw, ravaged by a pain she had only just scratched the surface of._

_"Do what?" She clutched her cloak tight around her._

_"Have sex with me?"_

_"You're complaining about it now?" She derided._

_"I'm serious," he snapped, the severity of his tone pulling her to attention._

_"What does it matter?"_

_"It matters to me."_

_The admission was so vulnerable, so unexpected, that it chilled her to the core._

_"Draco," she inhaled deeply, trying to gather her thoughts, "I'm sure you've noticed how good looking you are. It's not that difficult to see," his gaze was trained ahead, brows screwed together. She found herself wishing she could know what he was thinking, "Things just happen. You were there, I was there. Sometimes you can't help when - ,"_

_She lost her train of thought when he turned to look at her, the fervor in his eyes stopping her on the spot. They were still a fair distance from the castle, bathed in the darkness of the night, so no one saw the two figures, that once stood feet apart, inch their way closer. No one saw the way he lifted her chin with the slightest brush of his index finger. No one saw the way she placed her hands over the breadth of his chest. No one saw his arms winding around her waist, broom handle digging into her back as he yanked her to the tips of her toes. No one saw their lips meet, crashing together in a cataclysm of repressed passion._

_No one could see the heat in their gazes. No one, but the two figures only a breath apart._

* * *

"Why did you come, Hermione?"

"Hm?" Her eyes rose to his where she saw a glimmer of fear and accusation and, to her dismay, _hope_.

"You knew I'd still be here," he seemed to reprimand her, "So, why did you come?"

"I told you already," she slumped in her chair.

He considered her for a long moment and she could see his mind working, that cunning Slytherin brain analyzing every possible alley of his response. _Please_ , she thought, _Please don't._

"If you want to do this, you don't have to convince me," he reached across the bar before she could even think about pulling herself away. Her breath hitched when his skin finally met hers.

He was warm, palms roughened by the years, but his touch was unmistakable. His nimble fingers spread over her skin, encompassing her in his grasp. Merlin, she'd forgotten how large his hands were. His gaze held her captive as he spoke again, "But you might want to get rid of this first."

Hermione jolted when she felt him slide the engagement ring off her finger. He came away with the little silver band and it's shimmering diamond, holding it up to his line of sight with a wicked grin.

"Draco, I - ,"

"It's okay, Granger. I saw it at the Ministry," he opened his suitcoat and slipped the ring into the inner pocket, "Your secret's safe with me."

"No," Hermione stood abruptly, stool scraping against the ground, "This was a mistake. Give it back."

She held her hand out, palm turned up, and Draco's lips straightened to a thin line.

"And Hogwarts?"

"What?" Hermione asked, perplexed.

"Was that a mistake?" His eyes narrowed.

"Draco don't be childish," her temper flared and she slammed her hand down on the bar, drawing the attention of a few patrons. She lowered her voice to an unsteady timbre, "I'm getting _married_."

"Who is he?"

"None of your business," she seethed, "Give it over."

"Who is it?" He glowered, "Weasley?"

Hermione could only ruminate for the briefest of moments that perhaps Draco was so upset by this news that he couldn't be bothered to even find a clever way to twist Ron's name around.

"No," she shook her head vehemently, "Give it back Draco."

"Don't tell me it's Potter," he spat.

"It doesn't matter who it is!" Her voice swelled above the cacophony in the bar, bringing a roiling silence that lasted for longer than a moment. Her cheeks flushed a brilliant red and she shook as she kept her eyes on him, refusing to acknowledge the onlookers around them. She rushed through her next words in a harsh whisper, "We had our chance, Draco. Even if it was something worth pursuing, it's over now."

Draco lowered his gaze, his normally strict posture slumping forward.

"I don't blame you for not wanting to put up with all that just for a girl, let alone a _mudblood_."

"Don't," Draco hissed. Hermione sighed and extended her hand once more.

"My ring, Draco. Please, give it me."

His fists clenched before he reached inside his jacket and pulled out her ring. She went for it, but he pulled his hand back, as though he'd had a second thought. She saw the shift in his eyes before he spoke.

"I don't care about this, Hermione," his voice was solemn as he stared not at her, but at the sparkling band he clutched between his thumb and forefinger. She was so transfixed by his unyielding gaze and the certainty with which he uttered his words that she almost didn't catch her name falling from his lips. She had missed hearing it and for a split second she allowed herself to remember the way it would tumble like a breathless prayer from his slackened jaw as she took the length of him in her mouth, "I don't care who it is. I don't care if you love him. I don't even care if this is only for one night - ,"

Hermione snatched the ring back before he could continue.

"Stop, please," she begged as she twirled the rock about. He went quiet and watched, almost reverentially, as she slipped the ring onto her finger once more. She clutched her hands together as a tear slid down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly.

If she turned back now, she could still say that nothing had happened. She'd have to pretend it hadn't hurt, that this harmless encounter didn't open up a wound she'd tried so hard to close. With time, she could convince herself that this one night hadn't set her back ten years. It would be hard, so hard, but she could go on with her life, the way it was meant to be.

If she turned back now, she could still say that nothing had happened.

"I never stopped waiting for you to walk back through that door," he said softly. Hermione started and snapped her eyes back to him. Those long, graceful fingers, that had so often been her undoing, raked through his slick hair, mussing the normally kempt strands.

"Why didn't you come after me?" She struggled to keep the accusation from her words.

"Why did you keep pushing me away?" His steel eyes fixed her curiously.

"I was scared," Hermione's lip trembled and she struggled to maintain his stare; Draco's words had backed her into a corner she was finding it increasingly difficult to get out of.

"You weren't the only one, Granger," he spoke without malice, but there was a twinge of accusation to his words.

"I was just trying to be realistic," she folded her arms over herself, as though it might assuage the feeling of vulnerability their exchange had incited, "Even if we had wanted it to, it never would have worked."

"Because of my family?" His brows furrowed as he ran his thumb across his bottom lip. She lingered on that action for longer than a moment, before bowing her head.

"Because of everything."

Draco clenched his fist and narrowed his gaze.

"Who is it?"

Hermione scoffed.

"It doesn't change anything, Draco."

"It _is_ Weasley, isn't it?" a distorted smile twisted his features.

"For goodness' sake, it's not Harry and it's not Ron," she rolled her eyes.

"If I had asked, would you have said yes?" He blurted out, the color draining from his face once he realized what he'd said. Hermione's mouth tightened to a thin line. The fire in her eyes was alive.

"Don't joke like that," she said darkly, but then his thumb began tapping the wood counter and in an instant she softened, "That was never an option."

"Of course," he swallowed and turned his head. Her fingers twitched with the urge to hold him, to pull him back into the little bubble they used to live in, to go back to that time when they didn't have to think about the future and how they wouldn't be in each other's.

"Why did you stay here, Draco?" Her shoulders drooped as she looked down at him.

"I was waiting for you," he smirked, but it was missing its usual spite, "Obviously."

"You're insufferable, you know that?" She was caught between a dubious laugh and a wistful smile.

"So I've been told."

After a moment of silence, Hermione reached for her coat, a shaky hand tightening around the fabric.

"I should be off now," her eyes flicked to his, almost as if she expected him to protest, to take her hand and plead with her not to go. But he simply watched as she slipped on her coat, taking the time to fasten every button. She reached for her beaded bag, slinging it over her shoulder, and a look of genuine concern, a flash of worry for her wellbeing, took residence in his gaze.

"You know you don't have to run anymore."

She clutched the bag tighter.

"I know," her throat felt thick the longer he stared at her, "I just - ,"

"Hermione," the way he spoke her name was so soft, so sincere, an entreatment of her trust, at least for that moment.

"I need it," she whispered, ashamed and silently begging that he would allow her this, but he had no intentions of taking it from her or of convincing her that she was better off without it. It pained him to know that she still held such fears so long after the war was over. But he knew, as well as she did, that every day was its own battle, every morning one of remorse and foregone possibilities. So all he said was,

"Okay."

* * *

_They didn't speak about the kiss, walking back to their dormitory in rapt silence. If he had wanted to say anything, she didn't give him the chance, running with urgency to the bathroom for an evening soak. Clinging to that little bit of privacy, she tried to calm the harried beat of her heart, but she couldn't stop touching her fingers to her still tingling lips. The absurdity of the act they had just committed seemed to mock her more than the very carnal tryst that had resulted in the loss of her virginity._

_Logically, she knew her first time was doomed to be an unpleasant evening of pain and discomfort. She was bound to look back on it with disdain no matter who it was with. So in some irrational way, she was grateful that that messy, unpleasant night had been shared with somebody she had no emotional connection to. She could forget the whole thing, then._

_Her fingers slipped over her lips and down into the water._

_But she couldn't forget that kiss._

_So she stepped into their common area, in nothing but her towel, as he sat on the couch reading. Crookshanks was curled comfortably on Draco's lap as she watched them, dripping water onto the rug by the fire._

_"What is it, Granger?" he asked without looking up from his textbook, "Am I in your spot? He just sat down and I don't have it in my heart to - "_

_He looked up when she hadn't responded, the words lodging in his throat. Immediately, he set the book down and swung his legs off the couch to stand. Crookshanks jumped before he could fall, giving a disgruntled meow. Hermione parted her lips, thinking, as Draco awaited her words._

_"What more could you give me?"_

_He strode over to her, pulling her near naked form flush to him. His hand tugged the towel from her grasp, flinging it to the floor, while he claimed a hungry kiss from her lips. Unlike the one they had shared just an hour ago, Draco was aggressive now as his tongue pushed into her mouth sliding over hers and eliciting a moan between them._

_While he hadn't treated their first time together any particular way, she noticed the urgency behind his actions this time. His hands were bruising, his lips ravenous, his desire scorching. Through the divesting of his clothes, they found their way to the floor, the weight of his body pressing her into the dampened rug. He was rigid against her thigh, but he slid down her form, leaving a trail with his tongue. He stopped between her legs, hooking his arms under her knees, and devoured her._

_The strength of his hold kept her open for him and the tempest roiling in his silvery gaze held her captive. She had never spent so much time looking at his eyes as when his head was between her legs and, as she stared at the man she had spent so much of her life hating, she realized she had never known so many shades of gray._

* * *

"Take care, Draco," she fidgeted on her feet, reluctant to leave him, dragging out every second she could in his presence. His eyes dropped back to her ring.

"Just tell me who it is," he said, defeated.

"I thought you didn't care," she said pointedly.

"I don't," he affirmed, eyes open and somewhat clear as he began to sober up, "But I'm asking anyways."

Hermione sighed heavily, the burden of her past settling on her shoulders once again. She shifted in place, pinned by his fervid gaze. The air went still around them.

"It's Cormac."

"Granger - ,"

"Shut it, Malfoy," she snapped. A shadow crossed his features, then he snarled and rose to his feet.

"I take it you don't need me to tell you how big of a mistake you're making, then," he growled. He tossed a few galleons on the bar and pulled on his coat.

"A mistake?!" She bristled, swiping the coins off the counter and shoving them back at Malfoy. She fished a few notes out of her pocket and slammed them on the wood.

"A big one," he grit his teeth, snatching the galleons from her, and walked away. But she wouldn't let him get off that easy. Hot on his heels, she asked,

"So now that you know you suddenly care?"

He shoved the door of the bar open and strode into the blistering cold. The streets were almost empty now. Night had fallen, but the moon and the stars were hidden behind thick gray clouds.

"Draco!"

He quickened his pace and turned a corner sharply. She followed suit.

"What, do you think I'd be better off with you?"

The ground was slippery beneath her heels, but she wouldn't let up. She had to know.

"Do you think I'd be better off with you?"

His shoulders hunched forward against the cold and her incessant questions.

"Answer me!" She was practically running to keep up with him now, "Do you really think you'd be any better?"

Draco stopped short, causing Hermione to bump into his back. He whipped around sharply and bellowed, "At least I loved you!"

Hermione stiffened. Her eyes widened as his words echoed in her ears, across her mind, and through her heart. His chest heaved, sharp exhales puffing in the night air, as he glared down at her. She stared dumbfounded at him, forgetting their surroundings, forgetting their past, forgetting everything she had ever known, until the only thing she had was anger.

" _I_ loved you," she spat, as though he had robbed her of the satisfaction of being the first one to say it, but now it was out there and she didn't feel any better. Draco paled, finding himself at the mouth of an abyss and he didn't know what lay below.

But if she was there, he would fall. Every time.

She asked him quietly, as if she did not share an equal part in it all, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know," A pained smile quirked at his lips, every bittersweet memory of her flooding his mind. Suddenly every look, every touch, every moment took on new meaning. He remembered them all, even the ones he wished to forget.

Yet, he couldn't help but dwell on that rainy night when they sat naked under the blanket by the window. She had looked so despondent, so wistful. He hadn't known at the time how much that evening would come to mean to him.

Hermione huffed, equally exasperated and angered and heartbroken as she looked up at him.

"I know I pushed you away. I," Hermione screwed her eyes shut and bowed her head, "I knew things would change when we left Hogwarts. I couldn't let myself - ,"

"I know, Granger," he took a step toward her, the tips of their shoes almost touching, "You were right."

"I didn't want to be," she said, dejected, "Not about this."

Draco's hand dropped to hers where he clasped it gently. His thumb ran in circles over her ring, as though he could dull its shine, even if just a little, but it remained as brilliant as ever.

He bent forward, letting his lips graze her cheek. It wasn't until that moment, when she felt the heat of that touch, that she became aware of how long they'd been standing in the cold, the snow swirling around them. Then, he slipped away from her and turned on his heel. And it was when she looked up and saw him walking away from her, that she knew she wasn't ready to let him go.

"Prove me wrong."

"What?" He pivoted back to face her.

"Prove to me that things haven't changed," she commanded.

"I told you, Granger," he came to stand before her, "You don't have to convince me," though he remained reserved, he raked his silvery eyes over her without shame, "I don't care if it's one day, one night, or even an hour."

 _I do_ , she thought, but quickly brushed the notion away. Hermione gripped the ring and wiggled it off her finger. She held it out to Draco with a sure, steady hand. Without a word, or an arrogant smirk, he pocketed the band and took her hand. They slipped quietly down an abandoned alleyway and apparated into his darkened flat.

* * *

_The second time was better, much, much better. But she wouldn't tell him that. She wouldn't tell him that the way he thrusted into her, his cock moving deep and punishingly slow, was the greatest pleasure she had ever known. She wouldn't tell him that the way his large hands had pinned her wrists above her, made her wetter than she had thought possible. She wouldn't tell him that even though she relished the control he seemed to have in that moment, she longed to wrap her arms around him. She wouldn't tell him that she was grateful for the pain of his hips slamming into hers and for the burn of the rug against her skin and for the ache of him stretching her._

_She wouldn't tell him that this was closer than she had ever felt to another person before._

_As his hips became flush with hers and his chest brushed hers and his eyes, like liquid iron, bore into_ hers _, she came, shuddering and breaking and moaning as she floated beyond the stars and crashed back to the ground._

_His lips skimmed hers, fingers sliding up her palms to lock their hands together, then he leaned over to her ear, breath tickling her lobe. Her lids fluttered as he continued to move slowly within her, prolonging every wave of ecstasy that washed over her. His tongue licked along the curve of her neck, the taste of her sweat gathering in his mouth. She bucked against him, every nerve in her body branded by his touch._

_"My turn, Granger," he whispered heavily. She moaned at the promise of his words, but it quickly evolved into a yelp when he snapped his hips forward. Her fingers dug into the backs of his hands, biting the skin, as he grunted roughly and repeated the motion. Through the haze of their building pleasure, she watched him lift his head, those silver eyes darkening with every obscene sound that resonated through their common area. He became unhinged as he pounded into her, hands tightening painfully around hers, breath raspy and short, guttural groans streaming from his throat._

_"D-Draco," she stuttered between thrusts. Her breasts arched into him, head tossing to the side as a restlessness overtook her. She needed to move, needed to touch, needed to hold. Vehemently, she wrested herself free and sank her nails into his back. He hissed and cursed, but the pain only seemed to propel him faster._

_She lost her voice, every word or moan or scream cut short by his brute force. Her knees were up at his sides, squeezing tightly as he plowed into her with abandon. She thought she heard him mutter something about the feeling of her around him, but between the slap of their skin and the beating of her heart, she couldn't be sure._

_"Hermione," her name off his tongue was as sinful a sound as she'd ever heard. A hand came up to cradle her neck, pushing her eyes up to his. Though he had meant to say more, he felt his throat run dry as she looked up at him, words stalled by the fire he found there._

_The apex of his pleasure crept upon him and suddenly he came with a loud groan. A flood of warmth filled her as he stumbled through his final thrusts, body trembling above hers. She unhooked her fingers from his back to rake them through his hair. There was no gel in it, so she took great pleasure in ruffling it further. He closed his eyes, basking in the feel of her touch and the convulsion of her walls around him._

_He was still shaking when he buried his face in her shoulder, rocking into her slowly. She wrapped her arms around his neck, the feel of his weight and heat a welcome comfort. She felt all but numb as they lay there for an immeasurable time afterwards. It could well have been hours and she would never have been able to tell._

_But what finally stirred her was the trickle of wetness along her shoulder._

_"Draco," she whispered, stiffening beneath him as she realized that his tremors were wracking sobs. His unsteady hands were still on her while he softened inside of her and he made no movement to leave her comfort. She turned her head, tentative to disturb him, lips meeting his sweat coated neck. She whispered his name again, but it was a soothing coo this time. It was not an utterance for his response, it was an affirmation of her presence._

_How could he tell her that he hadn't felt something so intimate in recent memory? How could he tell her that she was the first person to touch him that way in over a year? How could he tell her that he had been starved for a connection like this?_

_How could he tell Hermione Granger that she was the first time he'd felt peace in all his life?_

_He lifted his head, glassy, reddened eyes meeting hers, and she did not look away. The longer she stared, the more she saw his humanity, his fragility. She saw the boy he was, the one he would have been._

_And she saw the man he could become._

* * *

She was on him before his coat had even hit the floor. Her hands flew to his hair, yanking him down to catch his lips in a searing kiss. She drank him like she was the desert and he, an oasis, while he cupped the sides of her face, his palms against the stinging cold of her cheeks. Her fingers dug into his scalp, a forceful, urgent plea.

Safe in the privacy of his flat, she allowed herself to exult in the feel of him, the caress of his lips and the tender touch of his hands. She allowed herself to rejoice in her feelings that she not only could put a name to, but that had been reciprocated just the same. She allowed herself to live in that moment with him, until they had to break apart for air.

Panting softly, sharing breaths, Draco began slowly unbuttoning her coat. His eyes were trained on hers as his hands slipped around her waist, tugging up the hem of her blouse. She slid her coat off her shoulders and let him pull her top up and over. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to her clavicle and began his travel down the length of her body. Small gasps left her mouth the lower he went, coming to kneel before her, while her stomach fluttered from his devoted touch. He kissed her abdomen, hands deftly unzipping and pulling down her trousers. Her legs began to shake with anticipation as his hands curled around her thighs. Kneading her lithe flesh, he kissed his way around the one spot she desperately wished to feel him on.

"Draco," she wound her fingers through his locks and jerked his gaze up to hers, "I won't beg, if that's what you're waiting for."

"No," Draco smirked and dragged his tongue along the material of her knickers. She gasped and tossed her head back. With humor evident in his words, he said, "You've never been one to beg."

And she certainly wasn't going to start tonight, but she couldn't ignore the way her body seemed to be trained to react to him. She could already feel her arousal pooling between her thighs where she languished for his cock. The ache of his decade long absence was something she could never have accounted for and it nearly rendered her inept in his hold.

When he came to his feet, she kicked off her shoes and stepped out of her trousers, before being led to his couch, one of the few pieces of furniture in his sparse living area. Draco sat down and pulled her onto his lap, tangling his fingers in her wild hair to bring her in for another kiss. As their lips slid over each other and tongues warred between them, Hermione made quick work of the buttons on his suitcoat, shoving it off of him, and ripped open his shirt. Her fingers spread over his chest and met with his knotted tie.

* * *

**_"Albus still believed in the boy, even when most of us had already given up hope. He believed in everybody."_ **

_McGonagall's words were ringing in Hermione's ears when she saw Malfoy for the first time since the war. He looked no more surprised to see her than she was to see him, but he did look pained, like her presence afflicted him with some physical malady._

Good _, she thought bitterly._

_"I take my responsibilities very seriously," she said matter of factly, "I'll not be playing favorites with Gryffindors and if I find you doing that with Slytherins, I'll report you to McGonagall. It's imperative that we are fair and impartial when it comes to school regulations. And I'll be starting rounds on the hour every night," she folded her arms over her chest, "I expect you to be punctual."_

_She waited for that flicker of defiance in his cold gaze. She waited for that snide comment followed by the spit of her last name like it was a bad taste on his tongue. She waited for him to tell her that he wouldn't be bossed around by a_ mudblood _._

_"Okay," he said, then turned away from her and proceeded up the small stairs to his room._

:

:

 _Though it was_ their _common area, she hardly saw him in it. They had a few classes together, it was inevitable, but he kept to himself. Most Slytherins wanted nothing to do with him and those that did, he didn't seem interested in regaling them with tales from his time at Voldemort's side. He was quiet on their walks around the grounds, except for when they found the occasional rule breaker. Whoever they did happen to find, they were always more scared of him than they were of her._

_Sometimes, though, she would catch him looking off into the distance, trapped in some part of his mind. His brows would furrow and his thumb would start fidgeting as though he were trying to shake something off of it._

_"What is it, Granger?" He snapped._

_"Oh, sorry," she turned her eyes to the path ahead of her, unaware of how long she'd been staring at him. He glanced down at her and she could feel him burning a hole in the side of her head, but she resisted the urge to look._

:

:

_The one thing she hadn't anticipated with her return were the nightmares, hers or his. Being back at the castle, walking the same halls where they had seen their friends die, had awakened the ghosts within them. Most nights, at least at the beginning, she would wake up crying or shaking in her bed, alone in her room as every shadow came alive._

_For the length of the first term, she kept in close correspondence with Harry and Ron, but even that eventually became too painful._

_"Granger?"_

_Startled, she began wiping her cheeks frantically as Draco sauntered down the stairs._

_"Yeah?" her voice bubbled, a clear indication that she'd just been crying. She didn't look up, but she heard him sit on the couch behind her while she stared ahead into the fire._

_"Do you know what time it is?" He wasn't accusatory or reprimanding, he simply asked her._

_"Tried not to look," she responded limply._

_"What's that?" He gestured to the beaded bag she clutched in her hand, even though she couldn't see him. She was quiet, as though she hadn't heard him. So he opened his mouth to ask again, when she said,_

_"Nothing."_

_He shifted on the couch behind her, moving to lay across it fully. Draco closed his eyes, listening to the crackle of the fire and the occasional heavy exhale from his counterpart._

_And for hours that was how they stayed. Not a word was uttered further, a venerated silence blanketed them, coveting them, keeping them. From then, it became an almost ritualistic activity. Sometimes Hermione would be the first to come down, and sometimes it would be Draco, but once they were together, they sat quietly before the fire for the length of the evening. They couldn't describe it nor assign a word to it, but they would come to know it as a comfort, those moments of silence._

:

:

_The scratch of Hermione's quill on parchment and the intermittent sip from Draco were the only sounds in the common room. She became so attuned to the rhythm that when she had not heard him drink from his cup in some time, she looked over to see he'd fallen asleep on the other side of the couch. Quietly, she set her quill down and studied him. His face was relaxed, more relaxed than she'd seen him in months. His brows were not scrunched and his lips were not pulled thin, even his posture slackened as he rested his head against the back of the couch._

_She thought about waking him and telling him to go upstairs; his neck would surely not be comfortable come morning. But as she watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, she felt_ bad. _She knew that he wasn't getting enough sleep, so she grabbed the quilt draped over her armrest and laid it on him gently. Hermione was careful as she adjusted it on him, but her hand brushed his shoulder and his eyes snapped open._

_Draco snatched her wrist, pupils dilated to the point she could see almost no gray. He turned ashen, releasing her as soon as he'd realized what he'd done._

_"I'm sorry, Granger," a sincerity she'd never seen before befell him._

_"It's all right," her other hand closed around the wrist he had grasped, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."_

_He opened his mouth to say something else, but then seemed to think better of it. He threw off the blanket and trudged upstairs. Hermione was still clutching her wrist long after his door had shut._

_He was not cold like she had expected. He was warm, flesh and blood; a living, breathing man._

_It startled her to know that he was made of something other than the unflinching stone he so often appeared to be._

* * *

She made quick work of his tie, flinging it across the room to join every other article that had been discarded that evening. He was about to kiss her again, ravenous for her lips after so long, but she broke free from his hold. Hermione came to kneel before him, fingers skimming the waistband of his trousers, before meeting at the zipper to pull it down. He took a moment to admire her - her untamable hair, her eager eyes, her flushed cheeks - before watching her pull his cock out. Her slim hand stroked once, twice along his achingly hard shaft, and then her lips parted to take him in. He tried to savor that look, that same one she'd had the last time they were in this position, and the time before that, and - Merlin, he'd missed it and oh -

"Fuck, Hermione," he drew her name out slowly in a tortured groan as she swallowed him nearly to the hilt.

He tangled his fingers in the mess of her hair, but did nothing to influence her movements; she knew, better than anyone, how to handle him.

As she drew back, letting him slip out of her mouth with a slick pop, he struggled to keep his gaze fixed on her. A futile effort, he realized. As soon as she began a familiar and all too pleasant rhythm, he felt his eyes rolling into the back of his head that went slack against the cushions of the couch.

"Fuck," a strangled groan left him and he tightened his hold on her hair. She moaned against his cock, causing his hips to jerk upward. He slipped a little further down her throat and Hermione held him there for a long breath, allowing him to revel in the way her mouth squeezed him at the base, the way her throat swallowed against his head. His eyes shot open as she drew back, sucking her cheeks in to concave around him.

Her gaze was wild as she looked up at him, lips swollen and shining with spit. He was transfixed as she took him in again, moving in a steady bob, a carnal squelching sound reverberating through the room the faster she went. Draco began to tense, muscles tightening, limbs restricting, his body obedient to her whim. A puddle of saliva was gathering on his trousers as she laved her tongue along his rigid member.

"Hermione," he groaned urgently and she hummed against him in response. He felt the vibrations right down to the base of his cock and bucked against her. Her remorselessness as she devoured him was a pleasure he had been deprived of for ten long years and now that he was here, he could've succumbed the moment her lips had touched him.

But he wouldn't allow that. Fingers still knotted in her thick hair, he pulled her off roughly and caught that feral look in her eyes as he yanked her back onto his lap. Draco gripped her thighs tightly as she straddled his waist. His cock was pulsing against the fabric that still covered her while their lips collided again and his hands moved over her stomach to slip under the elastic trim of her knickers.

The tip of his middle finger ran along her slit, feeling how drenched she had become for him, to circle her entrance.

* * *

_Hermione stirred beneath the blanket, fingers twitching around the quill she hadn't realized she was still holding, and then turned her head, the stiffness in her neck causing her to blink her eyes open. The air was ripped from her lungs when she saw that she was leaning against Malfoy's shoulder. She tensed, hesitant to move for fear of alerting him to their position, but also desperate to free herself from such an uncomfortable realization._

_Suddenly, he moved, as though he, too, were just about to wake. She squeezed her eyes shut and pretended she was sleeping, possessing no desire to be confronted with their situation. She felt the strain of the muscles in his shoulder and surmised that he must have noticed their predicament._

_"Granger," his voice was soft, like he too was hesitant to draw attention to their proximity. She didn't answer, hoping that he would just get up and retreat to his bedroom and they would never have to speak about what had occurred._

_But then he didn't move._

_He just stayed there, breath evening out, shoulders sagging, and the tips of his fingers grazed her arm as he pulled the quilt up higher. She felt her heart falter in its already unsteady beat. He made no indications of moving and instead seemed to settle into a more comfortable position, with minimal disturbance to her._

_As she quietly panicked about how long they would stay like that, Draco was dreading the moment she would wake up._

:

:

_He wasn't there the next night. Or the one after that and she found herself feeling restless. She would sit in front of the fire for hours, hours that seemed to stretch into eternity without his presence to interrupt them, rummaging through her bottomless beaded bag. Every vial of potion or meaningful trinket procured for their journey to find the horcruxes was still stowed there._

_The war was over, but the damage was already done._

_She woke up the next morning on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her, though she didn't remember getting up in the middle of the night to move. She dressed herself and went down to breakfast, but noticed that Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. When the mail came, she saw his owl circling above. She called to it and promised to give the letter to him._

_As she walked back to the common room, she turned the slim envelope over in her hands. The Malfoy crest was stamped into the wax seal._

_She traipsed up the stairs of their dorm and slipped the letter under his door._

_It was hours later, when she dragged her tired, sleepless body into the common room, that she saw that same letter burning in the crackling fire. His shoulders were hunched as he watched the flames lick away at the paper, his head bowed forward and his arms resting on his knees. She rounded the side of the couch, but hesitated as she came closer._

_"Malfoy?" she said softly._

_"What is it?" His voice was curt._

_Crookshanks brushed against her ankles, then pranced over to Draco where he nudged his limp hands._

_"Are you all right?"_

_"I'm fine, Granger," he scratched her cat's head, then stood slowly. When he turned to face her, she was struck by the impossibly infinite well of sorrow in his already dulled orbs. She wondered what was in that letter: the death of a family member? The decline of their fortune?_

_Hermione could only speculate._

_But what she_ was _certain of was that somewhere between their arrival at Hogwarts and their many fretful nights, she had come to know things about Draco, things that she wished she didn't. And it was those things that had her confusing him for somebody that she could care about._

 _Because when she looked at him and saw_ her _insecurities,_ her _loneliness,_ her _pain, he was no longer the bully, the Slytherin, the Death Eater. He was just a boy trying to become his own man. Against his family, against his heritage, against his destiny, he sought to defy them all if only for a moment of freedom, of autonomy over himself, no matter the cost._

* * *

Her hips were bucking into his hand, his expert fingers, so attuned to the workings of her body, were curling and stroking inside of her. Meanwhile, his cock throbbed impatiently against her thigh, precum leaking onto her skin. His free hand kneaded her backside as he kissed the tops of her breasts. Hermione squirmed in his lap, her hold on his shoulders slipping the closer he brought her to the edge.

He didn't tell her that she looked beautiful slack-jawed and weeping from pleasure. He didn't tell her that this was everything he'd been hoping for for the last ten years. He didn't tell her that he desired her more than anyone else. He didn't tell her that he had missed this, missed her.

In his already rattled and still drunk mind, he convinced himself that he deserved this, just this one night. And then she could go back to _him_ and get married and have children and not have to be ashamed of her husband and his past. Hermione shuddered in his arms, fingers winding through his hair. He knew she was close, so his thumb swiped up, rubbing her clit in concise circles.

She pulled him away from her chest, forcing his eyes up to hers, forcing him to watch her break apart because of him. Her back bowed, an arcing cry of his name torn from her throat, and her thighs tightened against him, while the wet squelch of his pistoning fingers abated slowly.

She didn't want to come down; the ground was unforgiving.

* * *

_She wasn't sure why he was still standing there or why she was still looking at him in silence, but when she stepped forward, she knew. She knew before she lifted her arms and set them on his broad shoulders. She knew before her mind had a chance to protest and tell her that he didn't deserve her empathy. She knew that he had done terrible things, but she believed that he could be better._

_Hermione hugged him tightly to her, a shock to him, but he surprised her even more with the enthusiasm that he responded with. He was quick to circle her in his arms, eager to pull her closer, and startlingly comfortable against her. It reinforced the notion that he was only human, a monster reformed._

He's warm _, she reminded herself._ Flesh and blood.

_Then, she felt his hand leave her back to cup the nape of her neck over the thick curtain of her hair. Her breath hitched as he left it there, forcing her to endure the tender gesture for the longest moment of her life, until he finally released her and turned away before she could glimpse the expression on his face. She watched him walk up the stairs to his room and shut the door._

:

:

_His father was furious with him. His family had been deserted in the wake of the war. His fellow students refused to fraternize with him. And his mother could only do so much from so far away._

_Granger didn't have to show him such kindness, but it would surely be easier if she hadn't. He probably wouldn't still be thinking about her as he struggled to sleep. That simple gesture had felt like seeing the sun for the first time in years, like feeling touch after so much time spent being numb._

_"Did you finish the potions homework already?" She asked as they trudged across the grounds for their nightly excursion._

_"Haven't started it," he shrugged._

_"Malfoy," she admonished him, gaping as she looked up, "How are you passing that class?"_

_"I always do my best work when I have less time."_

_"Cocky, aren't you?" she turned her head forward, contemplative. Casting a sideways glance at her, he noticed how much more lax she seemed to be around him now, playful even, ever since their physical altercation_. _Yes, they still managed to swipe at each other every so often, but there was a certain_ humor _to it now. She didn't seem to mind being around him so much, or talking to him. He had to admit, he found himself tolerating her more, as well._

_"I have always excelled at Potions, Granger," he smirked, knowing how much that comment would get under her skin._

_"Yeah, well, Snape's not here anymore so - ," she broke off abruptly and looked up at him, devastated by her own words, "Draco, I'm so - ,"_

_He shook his head, stuffing his hands in his pockets. For the strangest moment, she worried he'd be cross with her. Then, she was wondering why that would worry her._

_But every thought then on was eradicated as she watched him turn his head, the unmistakable trickle of a tear slipping down his cheek. She threw her gaze ahead, pretending like she hadn't witnessed such a vulnerable moment of his. The rest of their rounds were carried out in silence, but as soon as they were back in the common room, studying together on the couch, it was like nothing had ever happened._

_"Shift your foot, Granger, you're on my side," he nudged her leg with his elbow, casting his eyes her way. Hermione refused to look up from the fascinating passage she was reading and instead straightened her knee out, foot nudging Draco's thigh on the other end of the couch._

_"How about now?"_

_"You're pushing your luck," he growled, slamming his textbook shut. She lifted her foot, prodding him in the ribs, then the arm, then finally -_

_He grabbed hold of her ankle and yanked her towards him. She shrieked as her papers went flying and she slid from her position against the armrest. He hovered over her with a bemused smirk as she lay flat against the cushions. But then her cheeks flushed bright red and he noticed how close they were. He sat back sharply, grabbing his textbook and opening it to any random page. Hermione pulled herself back slowly, folding her knees under her to keep a healthy distance between them._

:

:

 _He caught her looking at him at dinner the next night. She was always surrounded by a crowd of students, those who knew her and those who admired her. But that night she was looking at_ him _, and he kept her gaze for as long as she held his._

_"Granger, your hair gets everywhere," Draco picked up a stray strand stuck in the rug and held it up to the fire, "Yours and the cat's."_

_"You're right," she muttered sarcastically, as they sat on the floor after dinner, backs against the foot of the couch, "Maybe I should borrow some of your product."_

_"There's not enough in the world to tame that nest," he chuckled, loosening the tie around his neck and unfastening the first two buttons of his shirt._

_"You're so charming," she rolled her eyes, but found them coming back to him, "It's a wonder you and Pansy aren't still together."_

_"She was a right pain in the arse," he said, wincing at some memory she wasn't aware of._

_"That's putting it mildly," Hermione bristled._

_"Well, she never hit me," Draco smirked as Hermione scoffed at him._

_"You deserved it," she said imperiously._

_He didn't argue, merely nodded and folded his hands in front of him._

_"Did it hurt?" She asked with a barely concealed grin._

_"Of course it hurt," he turned to look at her, mouth agape. She laughed and threw her head back, "Glad you find it funny now."_

_"You know what?" She locked eyes with him, unyielding, "I'd do it again."_

_Draco smiled at her, a baffling lilt of his lips that she found herself transfixed by. And then they were staring at each other again. There was a palpable push and pull, an ebb and flow, as his eyes bore into hers and she refused to look away. Vaguely, she was aware of the sensation of his fingers slipping between hers as he leaned over, but it was the pressure of his lips that startled her._

* * *

"I can't wait anymore," he breathed desperately, voice raspy with want and need and anguish. He had lived off of only the memory of her for ten years, his satiation that of a lake gone dry. Hermione nodded, lifting herself off the couch. She reached behind her to unclasp her bra, letting it fall for his hungry gaze. When she hooked her thumbs on either side of her knickers to pull them down, he jolted off the couch, shucking the remainder of his clothing so that when he pulled her against him they were flesh to flesh.

His hands roamed from her shoulders to her waist to her backside and then up again. He wanted to touch her everywhere, but she slipped her fingers along his arm until she met his Dark Mark. She stroked her thumb over it, as if it conjured up some fond reminiscence for her. Draco watched her attentively. He'd spent so long hiding the mark in shame, that he forgot he didn't have to around her. She stepped onto her toes and kissed him fervently.

Their love was disaster, their passion cursed, their desire doomed, but they collided anyways and it was beautiful.

Backing her against the wall, he hoisted her legs around him where she crossed her ankles and slipped her arms around his neck. Draco positioned himself at her opening, nudging against her. He looked up at her, into her brown eyes, searching for any sign that she didn't want to do this anymore, that it was just some lapse of judgement on her part.

But all he saw was fire.

So he pushed forward.

"Mmph!" Hermione muffled her moan against his shoulder, every part of her tensing as she took another inch, and then another, and another after that. It wasn't until he was seated fully inside of her, that he let out a sigh of relief against her. Before he'd even started moving, his cock pulsing inside of her in anticipation, Hermione had staked her nails into the skin of his shoulder blades. She let out a shaky breath as she felt herself adjusting to him; after so long, she needed time to acclimate. He, in turn, seemed to require the same moment of reverence. Nuzzling his nose into the juncture of her neck, he cursed sharply at the feel of her contracting around him. She adjusted her hips, arching her back off the wall, the friction soothing the ache of his thickness.

"Shit, Hermione," he hissed quietly, "Don't move."

His arms looped under her knees, raising her higher, keeping her stationary, simply allowing themselves to feel each other for the first time in so long.

But Hermione couldn't stand it. She forced his eyes up, as tears slipped off her lashes. He pressed his forehead against hers, stricken with guilt, as he remembered their reality. He was not her fiancé. He was not the man she would spend the rest of her life with. He was not the future father of her children.

He was not hers.

He had only borrowed her love for the evening.

"Draco," her fingers shook as they stroked his jaw, but when she spoke, it was with a hardened fortitude, "I need you."

His lips grazed hers, tenderly, tentatively, as he pulled back only so far and pushed in again. They shared a small gasp almost as though it were too much too fast. But the way that they looked at each other conveyed that it was nowhere near enough.

* * *

_Hermione broke off, pulling back, but not away from him. Her mouth fell open - she meant to speak, she really did, but then he grabbed the nape of her neck and claimed her lips again. She felt his thumb pressing against the shell of her ear from where he cradled her while his other hand covered hers on the floor._

_Unlike the first brief peck, she could feel his desperation this time, reinforced by the swipe of his tongue across the seam of her lips. Hermione jolted, pushing away from him. She hadn't realized how rapidly her heart had been beating until she was gulping down breaths of air. Watching him, Draco seemed just as stricken by his actions as she did and equally as unwilling to address them. He moved to stand, but she caught his wrist before he could even get up from the floor._

_"Wait," she said, wide brown eyes searching for something across his features._

_"So you can tell me off?" He sighed, "Look, I'm sorry, Granger. I misunderstood - ,"_

_She surged forward and kissed him again, this time weaving her fingers through his hair in an effort to bring him closer. She couldn't explain it to herself nor justify it in that moment. It was a craving, a desire for fulfillment, and she knew he could give it to her._

_No one else, but him._

_His arms wound around her waist to pull her into his lap as they moved against each other, unaware of how badly he'd wanted her until he felt the hunger of her lips on his. Draco could feel his head going light, succumbing to the intoxication of having another person so close. His hand slipped under the back of her sweater, fingers following the trail of her spine until he was met with the clasp of her bra._

_An action that would have once repulsed her merely from the thought, now stoked the excitement rushing through her body. When they parted for air, she could see the determination in his steely eyes. Still tight in his hold, she released the remaining buttons of his shirt and shoved the sleeves down his arms. The beginnings of his mark peeked out from under the material. The brief moment her eyes rested on it was unmistakable. He saw her change, even if she pretended like she was unaware of its existence. He always wore long sleeves, so she'd almost forgotten it was there, the sight of it a palpable shock._

_When her eyes met his again, she was seeing him differently, like every interaction that led them there was suddenly undone._

_But still she kissed him, still she guided his fingers to the hem of her sweater, still she gave herself to him._

* * *

He watched the flutter of her eyes as he drove into her, unrelenting and vicious with every thrust. She clung to him desperately, biting into him with teeth and nails. He growled and groaned into her neck, dropping one of her legs to cup the back of her head, winding himself in her hair. She felt the wind knocked from her lungs when his hips met flush with hers. Reaching deep within her, he let himself sit there for a moment, rocking slowly, allowing only an inch or so out of her before snapping forward again. Draco cradled Hermione against him, feeling her lithe body writhe with every push into her.

"I missed you," unable to meet his eyes she simply buried the moaned admission into his shoulder. He stilled inside of her, cock throbbing and aching to continue, but he forced himself to stop. "Draco," she murmured when he didn't move.

"Hermione," he looked pained when he pulled out of her slowly. He set her back on her feet and she finally met his gaze. The sea of silver in his orbs churned into a frothing storm of words unsaid, feelings repressed, and a love he'd believed to be unrequited.

How could he tell her that? How could he tell her that he was so wrong for so many years? How could he tell her that she had gone from being one of his worst enemies, to the woman he didn't think he could live without?

How could he go back after tonight?

"What is it?" She rested her hands on his forearms, stroking her thumb over his mark. He faltered as he lost himself in the encompassing pyre of her chestnut eyes. His heart pounded in his ears the longer he looked at her. When he found the strength to speak, he said,

"Follow me," he pulled her through his dimly lit flat to his bed at the back. She couldn't help but smile when he sat back on his dark sheets and beckoned her forward. With a lascivious glint, she fell into his arms once more.

* * *

_She knew it would hurt, she'd done her research. But then Draco pushed into her, forcing himself in to the hilt. He didn't know any better, she hadn't told him, and all he knew was that he wanted to fuck her. So Hermione clamped her teeth into her bottom lip until it bled. She sank her nails into his back until her fingers went numb. And she hid her face in his chest until it was no longer scrunched in pain._

_He held himself above her, thrusting into her, his mattress dipping from the force of his movements. He was groaning in her ear, whispering dirty words that she couldn't quite grasp, keeping his enjoyment no secret from her._

_It wasn't until he was nearing his release, rhythm faltering, hips stuttering, grip tightening, that she started to feel_ pleasure _. She started to moan. Yes, she was sore, but Merlin, what an incredible feeling, him stroking inside of her. She started to buck against him. Oh, the friction! His member was hitting that spot within her that she struggled to reach with just her fingers alone._

_She actually started to enjoy herself._

_And then he came with a loud, guttural sound, spilling within her, before he collapsed to the side of her._

_Hermione stared up at his ceiling, her fingers grasping the sheets beneath her. She was more sober now, roused from the brief pleasurable dream she had been experiencing when he was inside of her. She draped an arm over her chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall as she fought to catch her breath. She felt dizzied, sticky, confused, weightless and, at the same time, like she were held captive under a ton of bricks -_

_"Granger," the shock and dread in his voice startled her. She sat up abruptly, eyes falling to his bloodied, softening cock that he held in his hand. His eyes were narrowed, not out of anger, but concern, "Are you - ?," he fumbled for the words. Menstruating? Hurt? Or. . ._

_Draco's eyes widened and she shot up from his bed, hopping around his room to gather her forgotten clothes. She raced out the door and locked herself away for the rest of the evening._

* * *

He slid his hands along the underside of her thighs and up her back as she straddled him. Her slick entrance, still drenched from their previous fucking, hovered just above the head of his length. He could've grabbed her waist and shoved her down, but he leaned back against his plush pillows and watched her salaciously.

This whip smart woman, the brightest witch he'd ever known, the one who every Slytherin had considered to be a prude, she conveyed a near terrifying eroticism in her eyes that had set him in her sights. She was powerful, obscene, ravenous, as she released a long and loud moan that made his heart quiver, slipping down his length in a single, smooth motion. He grit his teeth, hissing through them, when he was fully sheathed within her once more.

Through half lidded eyes, she peered down at the man beneath her, the man that she had conquered in body, soul, and heart. He was the same man she had once feared, loathed, and pitied.

She raised her hips, giving a small rotation of them as she contracted her walls around him. Hermione relished the intense look of bliss that softened his normally sharp features. Draco pressed his hands against her back, urging her to lay across his chest. He needed her close, closer than physically possible. She grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head while she leaned forward, swiveling her waist to stimulate his cock. She was awarded with a delicious groan and repeated the action, pushing his hands into the pillows.

She marveled at the control he allowed her to have, knowing full well that with the size of his frame, he could overtake her in a second. _Not that she would give up that easily_ , she thought, smirking when he choked on another moan. She bent her head as she rocked her hips slowly, her tongue slipping out to lick the outer shell of his ear. He trembled and bucked against her, ripping a surprised cry from her when he thrusted deeper.

"You're so big, Draco," she whispered. Though she had never felt one way or the other about saying such things during sex, she had always enjoyed his words.

But she knew how much it set him off, and that was exactly what she wanted to do.

"Fuck, Hermione," his hands twitched under hers, "I don't remember you being this tight."

"No?" She teased, raising her hips until only the tip remained. Peppering soft kisses along his jaw, she began to bounce on his cock, never slipping more than an inch down. He grunted, shutting his eyes as they threatened to roll back into his head. He breathed sharply through his nostrils. Every soft little moan that escaped her was a vicious taunt when he knew he could take control, make her scream, make her weep, make her come, _violently_.

He could make her so - _happy_.

"Do you remember this?" She rotated her hips and dropped down. A strangled growl emanated from his chest and he ripped his hands free, snapping like a magnet to her waist. He held her there as he began mercilessly thrusting up into her. Hiccuped moans turned to strung out cries as he bounced her faster on his cock, blunt head striking deep, hitting that spot every time.

"Cheeky little - fuck," he groaned when she cut his snide comment off with a squeeze of her passage. Oh yes, he remembered this. He flipped them over and pulled out of her. She rolled onto her stomach, coming to her knees and pushing up her backside, knowing full well what he wanted. Draco leaned forward, cock sliding against her entrance as his hands found hers. She felt the curve of his head rubbing against her clit, sending a static jolt through her.

Lacing their fingers together, he pushed in leisurely, his chest to her back, his lips to her neck, and, finally, his hips to her rear.

"Yes," she breathed a sigh of relief, long enough for her to adjust to him, and then he started pounding into her. His hold on her hands kept her from moving up the bed and instead enabled him to fuck her into the mattress. With his skin slapping against hers and her head falling into his pillows, her moans were almost lost around them.

"Let me hear you, Granger," he hissed into her ear, his voice a seductive cadence; a tune to accompany her passion. He jerked his hips forward, slamming into her. Like the conductor of her pleasure, he guided her into a state of euphoria, the savage fucking she was receiving causing a scream to well in her throat. Draco cursed, hands nearly wringing hers in his bruising grasp.

She swallowed her voice in an attempt to hold on to sanity for as long as she possibly could, but he wouldn't stand for it.

"Come on, Hermione," he goaded her. A subdued whimper tumbled out of her bitten lips. She didn't beg, she wasn't one to do that.

But, Merlin, he could make her sound like an animal. He could break her down, take her apart, unravel every piece of her until there was nothing left.

He could destroy her.

But he could also put her together. He could make her whole.

He could make her so - _happy_.

A tear slipped down her cheek as Draco released one of her hands to loop around the front of her waist. His fingers spread over her abdomen as he shook her with his continued thrusts. She felt him creeping closer, felt the soft, almost unnoticeable swipe against her nerves, a delicate reminder of the dominion he held over her.

"I want to hear you," he whispered roughly again, and she squeezed the hand still holding hers when his fingers started rubbing at her clit.

Hermione screamed, voice shredded by pleasure, entire frame shaking beneath him.

He moved faster, harder, hitting her deep every time, and responding to her incessant cries with just enough pressure against her sensitive nub.

"That's - mm - it," he encouraged her. Every word he spoke was broken by a deep groan as he pounded into her, "Do you remember this?"

Even amidst the throes of passion, they never missed an opportunity to tease one another. But as her throat became raw with every belted scream, and her thighs trembled against the onslaught of his desire, all humor left him. His other hand lifted off of hers and he used it to cup her breast. Pulling her up to him, back against his chest, he angled himself deeper into her impeccably tight warmth. She clamped her fingers over his that held her breast, and weaved the others through his hair, tangling to a painful pull.

His circles at her clit became tighter, faster.

She was calling his name, he was grunting hers, a shared rhythmic chant fueled by each other's lust.

He brought his lips to her ear and whispered viciously,

"Do you remember how to come for me?"

"Yes!" she sobbed, nearly coming undone from the control in his words, "Yes, yes!"

He pinched her nipple, rolling it between his fingers. She felt herself unraveling then, felt him pulling her apart from every angle. The power of his thrusts, the command of his tone, and the sincerity of his touch had her falling asunder. Through strangled moans, disjointed letters strived and failed to form his name.

"Remind me," he whispered, voice thickened by his need for release, as well as his need for hers.

She broke for him with a final scream. Her limbs seized, her cunt convulsing around him, clamping down tighter than a vise, causing him to shudder against her. The wave of her release slammed into her, resetting her equilibrium and rendering her inert in his arms. She could only cling to him as his fingers slowed, dragging her through every residual aftershock, while his hips quickened, as he chased his own pleasure. He smacked against her, a groan of sheer enraptured bliss alerting her to his orgasm before she felt him still inside of her. A few lazy thrusts helped him prolong his consuming pleasure, but it was long after their mutual releases that they continued to rock with each other in tandem.

* * *

_"What do we do?"_

_She had left the question until the last week of the last term, when there was virtually nothing to keep them busy, to keep them from being around each other. It had been easy to tell herself she didn't have the time to think about what would happen after Hogwarts when she was so consumed with trying to get through the rest of it._ Priorities _, she had told herself._

_But now the end was here, they had gotten through it, they had survived the year, and each other._

_That evening, she was sitting in the nook opposite him, a space that they seemed to favor, but this time they were not reveling in the aftermath of a sexual encounter._

_"Granger," he sighed and shook his head, his hand coming up to pinch his nose; it was too much for him. How could he tell her that he'd been agonizing over that very question for months now? Or at least, ever since he'd returned from the Manor after the holidays. He remembered wandering its chilling halls, the mostly silent dinners seated in that grand dining room, the strain his father showed in trying to take an interest in Draco's studies, the disappointment about his son's return to Hogwarts evident in his voice. He couldn't imagine bringing Hermione home to them, to that, presenting her as the woman that he -_

_"Forget it," she snapped, standing suddenly and marching back to her room._

:

:

_They didn't speak any more on the matter for the rest of that week. It wasn't until they had become so desperate and so starved and so morose that they gave in to their passions for what they believed to be the last time. They were more rough with each other than they had ever been, seeking pain where they normally would pleasure. They wanted to hurt each other as badly as they believed the other had hurt them. Only when they were bruised and aching, utterly destroyed by each other, did he say,_

_"We can't tell anybody."_

_Draco was laying on his back, an arm beneath her, both exposed in the comfort of his room, "Not Potter, not Weasley, not our families."_

_He didn't know if he could let go of her. He didn't know if he was ready. He didn't know if he could go back to a life without her._

_But he didn't know if he could tell her those things._

_The only thing he was certain of was that nobody could know. It was too -_

_"So we just meet in secret for the rest of our lives?" The question sounded so ludicrous in her mind, but she almost scoffed at herself when she voiced it aloud._

_He stayed silent, but his hand began to reach for her shoulder._

_"I want a family, Draco," she said urgently, sitting upright, "Not now, but someday. We can't have that together."_

_His eyes widened and he pushed himself up, the truth of her words like a knife to his heart, but he didn't understand why. He didn't understand why it hurt so bad to hear something he already knew to be true._

_Hermione hung her head, ashamed at herself and defeated by the futility of her feelings. He watched her walk aimlessly around his room, picking up her clothes as the sun began to peak._

_"Then why are you still here?" He spat, visibly startling her. She looked down at him, the fury in his eyes a familiar and disparaging sight. Straightening herself as her undergarments dangled from her fingers, she said,_

_"I don't know."_

_She didn't spare him a final glance as she turned and walked out of his room._

* * *

She couldn't enjoy the way he was kissing her, those languid movements of his lips as he coaxed her back to the ground, because reality had already set in.

And along with it, her guilt.

She pushed herself up, leaving the comfort and warmth of his chest.

"You're leaving?" Though he was asking her, he knew the answer already.

"Yes, I'm sorry," she was still for a moment, turned towards him but unable to meet his gaze. Then, she left his room and returned to the living area. He followed after her.

"Hermione," his voice was a plea.

"I shouldn't be here, I need to go home," she went about collecting her clothing, assembling herself and tossing his garments at him. He followed suit, but was desperate as he continued.

"Just stay for a bit longer."

"I'm sorry I put you in this position," her voice broke.

"It's my fault," he said adamantly, "But you don't have to go now. You can stay."

"No," she said, searching for her discarded bag once she was dressed, "I should have known better."

"Hermione, please," he had zipped up his trousers and pulled on his shirt, but was too fixed on her to button it.

"I can't, Malfoy," she said sternly, whipping her eyes to his as tears spilled over her cheeks, "I can't."

As much as it hurt him to hear her say that, it didn't stop the surge of anger that pulsed through him.

"Why are you with him?!"

Her eyes widened, as if she hadn't expected such a retaliation from him.

"That's none of your business," she said quietly.

"Your parents like him?" He pressed, advancing on her.

"They're aware he's a bit thick, but yes," she hissed.

"A bit?" He scoffed, not stopping until he'd backed her against the very wall they'd fucked on just a couple hours ago. His eyes were cold as he narrowed them, "Do _you_ like him?"

"Of course," her hands were fisted at her sides.

"They're fine with your engagement then?"

Her cheeks turned red. She struggled to keep her gaze level with his, a feat that did not go unnoticed by him.

"I haven't told them yet," she admitted, defeated. Draco sighed and nodded. He was surprised, yes, but he wasn't cruel; he didn't smirk as he asked,

"Second thoughts?"

"Draco, that's not - ,"

"Why are you with him, Hermione?" He spat.

"Because it's easy!" she said, exasperated, "He's easy!" Draco swallowed thickly, straightening against her words, "Because I don't have to think when I'm with him. I don't have to work on myself or our relationship. I don't have to worry about what my family might think of him or what his family might think of me. I don't have to wonder if I'm good enough for them or if his past will affect our future, because there is no history to be ashamed of!" she shook her head, a forlorn and longing gaze pinning him in place, "And I never have to worry about getting hurt, because I never felt anything in the first place. I care for him, I do," she choked on her next words, "But he's not you."

Draco seethed, his clear silver eyes now marred by his own frustration.

"And you're okay with that?" He sneered.

"I thought you didn't care," she goaded him.

"Of course I do," he bellowed, face inches from hers, "Of course I care!"

Hermione flinched, the truth of his words affecting her more than the tone with which he uttered them.

She had never blamed Draco for the way things had worked out. If anyone had discovered their involvement, social suicide would have been the least of their problems. She could scarcely imagine a scenario in which one of the most elite pureblood families came together for tea with common muggles such as her parents. It was equally as absurd to imagine her upstanding mother and father seated at the same table as two former Death Eaters.

She couldn't blame him for the way things had worked out. She could only blame him for who he was, but that didn't change who he was trying to be.

And why should they be punished for something they both wanted?

"Did you really believe that things would have changed?" She asked him, searching for his honest answer.

"I want to," Draco placed his hands on either side of her, palms flat against the wall. He was silent for a long moment, contemplative, "It would be better, wouldn't it?"

She frowned as she studied him.

"If we didn't - ?," she wanted to say the word again, but she couldn't; she knew its consequences.

_If we didn't love each other?_

"If we weren't cowards," he finished.

"It's not cowardice," she said slowly, shaking her head. Having him so close was making it difficult for her to think, to rationalize, "We aren't cowards for not wanting to upend our lives for another person."

"You think my life could get worse?" His brows raised, challenging her.

"Of course," she protested, glaring up at him, "The social ramifications would be endless. Could you imagine somebody like Rita Skeeter finding out we've been involved? Your whole family would disown you."

"We've been cut off Hermione," he spat, "You think they were going to forgive us for deserting," his voice quieted, " _Him?_ Besides, everyone's either dead or in Azkaban."

"And what about your parents?" She questioned, "If your mother and father found out you were dating a mudblo - ,"

He forced his lips against hers, silencing that awful word. Draco remembered every time he'd called her that and she had every right to throw it back at him, but he'd given everything for his pure blooded family and he had nothing to show for it.

Meanwhile, he'd given this muggle-born girl his heart, cut himself open before her, and she had gifted him with so much more in return.

Hermione shoved against his chest, pushing him back. He could see the beginnings of more tears gathering on her lids. She cupped a shaky hand over her mouth.

"And my parents?" She whispered. His shoulders slumped; he didn't know what to tell her.

"I'm responsible for my own actions," he said solemnly, "I did what I did."

"I know you've changed," she affirmed, sorrow filling her eyes like that simple admission broke her heart.

"But I'll always be a Malfoy to the rest of the world," he nodded, then looked at her pointedly, scrutinizingly, unapologetically, "And you're happy with him?"

"Yes," she swallowed harshly.

Draco's face fell, but Hermione continued to watch him as the last of his hope died, continued to punish herself with the sight of the pain she had caused him, because it was what she deserved. He lowered his hands, stuffing them into his pockets, but not before she caught sight of that twitch of his thumb.

* * *

_She woke up in his bed in the middle of the night, the space beside her still warm. It was only the third or fourth instance she'd fallen asleep in his room and it still surprised her every time she found herself there. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up slowly, adjusting to her surroundings._

_The soft murmur of voices wafted up the stairs, alerting Hermione. Was someone else in the dormitory? She got to her feet and snatched up a shirt, quickly pulling it on. She realized it must have been Draco's when she felt the hem hit her thighs. She resolved that she didn't need to dress further, having no intentions of being found out as she crept from his room. Slinking along the wall, she kept to the shadows as she tread silently down the stairs._

_"This is important to me," she heard Draco say. The fire was burning, but she couldn't see it or him with the couch blocking her view._

_"You have other priorities, things that take precedent," a sharp hiss from the other voice, a voice she recognized as Lucius Malfoy. She felt a chill run through her. Why were they using floo to talk?_

_"I don't care," Draco was careful to keep his voice low, but the bite in his tone was unmistakable, "I'll come back to the Manor for the holidays. That's it."_

_"You are needed_ here _," Lucius snapped._

_"Keep your voice down," Draco seethed, "It's not just me here."_

_"Oh, of course," Lucius's voice mocked him, "They've got you shacking up with a mudblood. Despicable. Even in this day and age some things should still be sacred."_

_Hermione listened to the vitriol pouring forth from Lucius, the harsh words directed at her and the snide comments about his son "failing to stand up for what is right."_

_"She's a hero," Draco said quietly, "If anything she's shacked up with me."_

_"Oh, don't be ridiculous. We may have been on the wrong side of that war, but does that mean everyone deserves that kind of praise just for showing up that night?"_

_Draco swallowed the insult he wanted to hurl at his father._

_"She does," he kept his voice constrained and moved to stand, "You can stop sending me those letters. I'll see you in a month."_

_Hermione raced up the stairs, running on the tips of her toes to his room where she flung herself back into his bed. She closed her eyes and tried to steady her breaths as she heard him enter. He slid back his sheets and crawled in beside her. She felt the bed shift as he adjusted himself and forced herself to pretend she was asleep. When he finally settled, she opened her eyes carefully. His back was to her, so she reached her hand out across the bed, fingers inching closer._

_But then she stopped herself. Her hand fell, spreading over the sheet rather than him._ She should tell him thank you. She should tell him that he's strong, stronger than he thinks. She should tell him that he's brave. She should tell him all the things she keeps bottling up when she's around him. _These thoughts churned in her mind the longer she looked at him._

_Instead, she pulled her hand back and turned over. She pretended she hadn't heard him stand up for her. She pretended she hadn't heard his father's demeaning tirade. She pretended that she didn't feel warmth blooming in her heart._

* * *

He wanted to ask her who made her happier, who made her laugh more, who was better at holding her when she cried, but he was afraid of the answers. Still, he had to know that there was something he gave her that no other man could. So, he asked her,

"How is he in bed?"

"You want me to say you're better?" She folded her arms over her chest and cocked her hip. He grinned at her playfulness.

"Am I not?"

"You're different," she shrugged, casting her eyes down, "He's different."

"That's depressing," Draco sighed.

"What am I supposed to say?"

"That you can't stop thinking about me, that you fantasize about me when you're with him," he leaned forward with a smirk. He taunted her as his lips came to rest next to her ear, "That after he fucks you, you sneak off to the bathroom to touch yourself while you imagine all the things I would do to you."

Hermione lifted her gaze when he pulled back, shooting him a scathing glare. Just because he was right, it didn't mean he had to prattle on about it.

Well, partially right, anyways. It wasn't like she couldn't take any pleasure in sex with Cormac, but -

His brows furrowed as he looked down at her.

_He was different._

As hard as she tried to repress Draco, from her mind and her heart and her body, it never lasted. Like the remnants of a curse, he lingered, plaguing every part of her until she wasn't sure who had more control. _Her?_

Hermione searched the complexity of his eyes.

_Or him?_

"Even if I wasn't with him," she allowed herself the moment to think on that scenario before she shook her head, "I could be with anybody, it wouldn't matter."

He'd still occupy every space of her heart, and perhaps even more before the night was over.

"Does he make you happy?" Draco asked her again, the language of his body restrained, his voice soft and quiet. He didn't hide from her when she took in the expanse of him. He showed her that that was all that mattered, that even if it wasn't him, it was okay.

That her happiness meant more than his.

Her lip trembled.

"Just tell me that he makes you happy," he pleaded; he needed her honest answer.

Hermione crumbled, collapsing back against the wall where she slid to his floor. Draco got to his knees as soon as she started sobbing, widening his legs so that when he wrapped his arms around her, he could pull her into him. He clung to her like she had just given him everything he'd ever asked for, this physical admission that she was miserable. That she didn't love her fiancé. That leaving Draco was the biggest mistake of her life, just as letting her walk away was his. He clung to her like he was the luckiest man in the world, like the despair claiming her made him happier than he'd every been.

But it didn't.

It broke his heart with every sob, shattering the pieces that shattered when she had left him.

She was _miserable_ and that was a fate worse than a life without her.

Hermione's entire body shook as she pressed her face into his chest, tears wetting his skin. He rocked her gently, lips burning against the crown of her head. She wanted to tell him that he was enough. She wanted to tell him that she wanted to try. She wanted to tell him that she didn't care what anybody else thought, as long as she had him. She wanted to tell him that she was a coward, that she had been all the years she'd let the judgements of other people dictate her own happiness.

She wanted to tell him everything she'd ever bottled up when she was around him. And now, with the words lodged in her throat, she couldn't.

She lifted her teary eyes to look at him. Her cheeks were stained, her lips were quivering, but her eyes -

His heart stopped as he saw that behind that soft, muddy brown, they burned.

"I love you, Draco," her voice was so soothing, so affectionate, so adoring that he felt his throat constrict and his eyes water, because as he looked at her, he realized he'd never wanted anything so badly in his life.

"I love you, Hermione."

And he knew he was about to lose it.

* * *

_The rain had started pouring hours ago and it showed no signs of stopping. Everyone was staying in for the weekend; there was no point in mucking about in that mess. So they'd made use of the time to be together._

_They were going slower now, though, being so eager the first time they'd had sex that afternoon that they'd both made each other almost too sore to move. After being by the window in the nook for so long, they'd found it to be too chilly and so they had moved in front of the fire. With the blanket discarded nearby, she sat in his lap, back to him as she rocked back and forth on his cock. The hand that wasn't playing with her breasts reached around her front to tease her clit._

_Hermione leaned back, calling out his name, fingers splayed on his abdomen to angle herself better._

_"Fuck," he dragged the word out in a whinging groan. While he was immensely enjoying this slow burn of pleasure, accompanied by the impeccable view of her rear and the symphony of her voice, he did find himself wishing to see those faces she made as she rode him shamelessly._

But there would be time for that later _, he thought with a smirk, before lifting his hips up to meet her thrust for thrust._

:

:

_It was shortly after dinner, when they were both too full and too sore to continue on the way they had earlier, that they decided to start their rounds early. With a wave of their wands, they cast a charm to shield themselves from the rain._

_As they stepped out into the storm, he looked around. There was not a soul in sight, so Draco took her hand and laced their fingers together._

_She looked up to smile at him and, for a moment, he forgot about the impending break that loomed ever closer. He forgot that for the next two weeks he would be subjected to the chill of Malfoy Manor, the dissident tone of his father as he prattled on about Draco's choice to return to school, and the lonesome nights without her warmth._

_It all faded into a dull static around him._

_"What do you want for Christmas?"_

_Draco shrugged and peered down at her._

_"What do you want?" Before she could answer, he quipped, "Don't say a book."_

_"Fine," she rolled her eyes, "You don't have to get me anything."_

_"You asked_ me _," he protested._

_"I was being courteous," she berated him._

_"In that case, you don't have to get me anything."_

_"Maybe I won't now," she said smugly._

_"Fine," he tried to hide his grin from her scathing gaze, but it was no use. They laughed together as they approached the Quidditch pitch, but then she stopped them abruptly and stood on her toes to kiss him with a fervor that almost knocked him back. He held on to her tightly, locking his arms around her waist._

_No one saw the two figures holding each other in the cover of night. No one saw them tangle themselves together, sore and aching and scarred by each other. No one saw the love in their eyes as they pulled back, but not apart._

_Not even them._

_But, for a moment, a fraction of a second, they felt it._

_They felt it surging between them, through them, around them._

_And for that moment, that fraction of a second, they imagined they could feel that way forever._


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, this story is officially a three parter. A preview of Part III will be posted to my tumblr (blackrosedrippingred) shortly. Thanks so much to everyone who took interest in this story. I really had so much fun writing this chapter and I just adore everyone's comments. Without further ado, get fucked.

_"Mum," Hermione's voice croaked as she stared at the book in her hands. Her eyes widened the longer she looked at it, fingers stroking the immaculate cover. She cleared her throat and called out again, "Mum!"_

_Before her mother could answer, she bolted off the couch and ran into the kitchen._

_"Mum, where did this come from?"_

_Her mother looked up from the stove briefly._

_"Was that the one in the white paper?"_

_"Yes," she said urgently, that wrapping now in tatters on their living room floor._

_"An owl dropped it off this morning, early. Startled me out of bed, it did."_

_"But there was no card?"_

_"No," her mother shook her head and went back to the meal she was cooking. Hermione retreated to the living room and seated herself on the sofa. Gingerly, she peeled back the stiff cover; it was almost as if it had never been touched before. Her heart jumped into her throat as she read the page._ A first edition. _She flipped through the book rapidly, all the way to the end where she found a small slip of parchment tucked into the sleeve. She pulled it out and saw his distinctive, sophisticated scrawl._

 _-_ Draco.

_Hermione clasped a hand over her mouth as she gave an astonished little laugh._

* * *

_"How are your classes going, Draco?" Narcissa Malfoy gave her boy a soft smile as they cut into the Christmas dinner the house elves had cooked._

_"Fine," he said curtly, reluctant to elaborate on the subject while his father sat across from him. But his mother was persistent, determined to liven their dreary holiday with conversation, no matter how idle._

_"What's been your favorite this year?"_

_"I don't know," Draco said glibly, poking at his plate._

_"They're all the same," Lucius cut in, "Bunch of nonsense these days."_

_"Lucius," Narcissa shot him a warning glare. Her heart was breaking for her son. She could only imagine the difficulty he endured each day. When he'd approached his parents, nervous in that subdued manner of his, to tell them he was returning for his final year, her apprehension for his safety had gotten the better of her and she had agreed with Lucius, albeit for different reasons._

_"I imagine it's a right side better now that old fool is gone," his father spat._

_"Lucius, please," Narcissa hissed through clenched teeth. Draco breathed sharply through his nostrils, straightening himself to glare at the man across from him._

_"Just because he was a better man than you'll ever be - ,"_

_"Draco!"_

_"We ought to have sent you to Durmstrang," Lucius said furiously, throwing his hands up, "Could have gotten you a proper education."_

_"So I could rot in Azkaban with the rest of the family?" Draco threw his fork down on his plate, "Or would you rather I'd have died that night, too?"_

_"That's enough!" Narcissa slammed her palms on the table and stood suddenly. Her voice was ice, lancing through the heated air, "Both of you. I will not have you ruin another holiday," she was shaking with fury as she stared them down, "_ Finally _, we have peace, we can be together again. We should be grateful for what we have been left with," her eyes narrowed on her husband, "All of it."_

_Lucius settled back in his chair with a slow exhale, but Draco pushed away from the table. They had managed to avoid this conversation for the majority of his time home, but he knew it was inevitable. Still, it had not stopped him from hoping that he might survive a family gathering without such a disaster occurring._

_"And you wonder why I didn't want to come back," he shook his head at his father, "I should have stayed at Hogwarts. No company would have been better than yours."_

_"Oh, come now, Draco," Lucius called after him, "Draco!"_

_"He's your son," Narcissa said sharply as Draco stormed out of the room, "We almost_ lost _him!"_

_"I know who he is," Lucius spat, "He is the sole Malfoy heir. He needs to understand that."_

_Draco hovered on the stairs in the foyer, pausing to listen to the elevated voices of his parents._

_"Let him figure that out on his own!" Narcissa was positively livid, unleashing the full spectrum of her wrath on her husband, "He deserves every bit of freedom he can get right now. That school was gracious enough to welcome him back. If the worst thing that happens is he gets a year away from us, away from what he had to endure, then so be it."_

_Draco clenched his clammy hands that shook, and bowed his head. The dank and dark walls of the Manor were closing in on him, the cursed halls stretching into eternity around him. They spoke to him, whispering his disgrace, coaxing the broiling darkness that had so long been cultivated within him. He did not want to be there, not at that table where Voldemort had sat, not in that room where Bellatrix had tortured him, not on those grounds where he could hardly call up a single happy memory from his adolescence._

_"He has a responsibility to the family," Lucius's voice was oddly quiet as he spoke and Draco had to lean forward to hear better. He sounded almost desperate, exasperated, worn by years of his own misery, "It is on his shoulders to rebuild this legacy."_

_Draco shut his eyes, fingers closing around the railing of the grand staircase._

_"You expect too much of him," Narcissa said coldly, "Our son could have done great things - maybe he still can - but he will always be scrutinized and judged and despised for his name._ That _is our legacy. That is what we have left our only son, Lucius. The sooner you realize that, the sooner we can be a family again."_

_Draco fled up the stairs to his room as tears pricked his eyes. He felt foolish for crying, as if this very situation wasn't exactly what he had expected it to be. How stupid of him to think that things might change! Just because Granger had swallowed her disgust enough to fuck him, that didn't mean he was suddenly reformed, that he wasn't the same disappointment he'd always been. Just because she had shown him kindness, that didn't mean he deserved it._

_Slamming the door behind him, he slumped against it as he tried to steady his breaths. He could not even find solace in his own bedroom. The walls that had once been decorated with Slytherin pride, the occasional academic commendation, and even, at one point in time, photos of his friends, were now barren. After a destructive outburst of rage and fear prior to his sixth year, he had destroyed it all. He had destroyed everything that reminded him of who he was, who he had hoped to be, leaving only room for the shell of who he would become. Now, within his vast room stood only a sprawling bed that felt entirely too empty, a wardrobe of only marginally different colored suits, and a large, cracked floor length mirror. Draco had never bothered to restore his bedroom to its former glory, because, though he had yet to tell his parents, he had no intentions of returning to the Manor after he left Hogwarts._

* * *

_She had spotted him on the train, but, of course, he went to sit with the other Slytherins. She could hardly contain her elation, though, casting a glance behind her until she could no longer keep him in her sights, even as she travelled through the car to sit with her fellow classmates. She fidgeted in her seat as the rest of the students filed into each compartment, but once they engaged in avid conversation about each of their holidays, it was a bit easier to distract herself from the excitement of seeing him again after so long. That was, at least until dinner. As they anxiously awaited their reunion, exchanging timid glances from across the Great Hall, it became more and more difficult to abate their fervor. Just when she felt like she was going to jump out of her skin, she finally,_ finally _watched him walk through the door to their common room. Hermione flung her arms around his neck, nearly toppling them to the floor in the process._

_"It's perfect!"_

_He laughed and pulled her close. There was something so comforting in the casualty of her embrace. It made him want to tell her how grueling each day had been without her, how terrified and angry and miserable he had been at the Manor, how he never wanted to go another hour without seeing her or touching her or speaking to her again. But when he looked down at her beaming smile, her visage unhindered by concern or grief, all he could say was,_

_"I'd hardly call a book the perfect gift."_

_She kissed him ardently, silencing his sharp witted retorts. Even when they pulled back, her enthusiasm didn't wane, eyes shining and lips curled happily as she asked,_

_"How ever did you find it?"_

_"It's been in the window of my local bookshop since I was a kid," he shrugged, his fingers still locked behind her back, "I've seen you bring it back from the library before. Many times."_

_"It wasn't," she cleared her throat awkwardly, "Expensive, was it?"_

_His eyes narrowed as he smirked at her._

_"Why? Does that bother you?"_

_"Of course it does!" She was suddenly very pale as she looked up at him, "You didn't have to - ,"_

_"Didn't we have this conversation already?"_

_She huffed and he noticed a slight pout in her lips. He had to stifle the humor within him at the sight of Hermione Granger_ pouting _. He doubted she even knew she was doing it from the way she was glaring daggers at him._

_"It's perfect," she reiterated, seeming to begrudgingly utter her next words, "Thank you."_

_"Well, there's no need for such foul language, Granger, but you're welcome," he answered smugly and she rolled her eyes before pulling out of his arms quicker than he could catch her._

_"I hope you don't mind," Hermione said as he watched her run over to her suitcase and pull out a small meticulously wrapped package, "I wanted to give you yours in person."_

_"Hermione, you didn't have to - ,"_

_"Of course not, but we established that already," she said matter-of-factly, handing it over to him. He took it hesitantly and she crossed her arms over her chest, watching him studiously, "Open it."_

_Draco began tearing into the paper, revealing an embossed black box. He didn't recognize the name on it, so he supposed it might be from one of her muggle shops._

_"Obviously I had no idea you were going to get me something so exorbitant, otherwise I would have tried a bit harder to find you a better gift," as she prattled on, he pulled off the sleek top to find a rolled silken silver tie, "But really, you can be very difficult to shop for."_

_She might have had doubts, but the sheer fact that she had put any thought whatsoever into a gift for him was enough to bring a smile to his face._

_"It's perfect," he assured her, running his thumb over the soft threads. As he repeated the motion, Draco imagined her perusing the aisles of a shop, touching the different materials, examining the array of colors, envisioning how each one might look on him, before determining that this one, the one he held in his hands, would be the best fit. At least, that was how he hoped it had gone._

_"I'm sure you've got plenty, but I've only ever seen you in black or your uniform, so I thought you could use a bit of color," she explained, but if she was being perfectly honest, which she wasn't, to him or herself, that particular shade had reminded her of his eyes, and as he raised them, she was stricken suddenly by just how much she had missed them over the course of their break._

_"It's perfect," he said again and reached for her hand that had twisted around the back of her neck as she observed him nervously. Their fingers laced together and she pushed up on her toes to meet his lips halfway. The hunger was instant, like it had never left, but as she had yet to find the bottom to their sateless lust, she supposed tonight would be no different. He pulled away suddenly with a wicked grin, "You know, Granger, I can think of more than one use for this."_

_For a moment, his provocative comment had truly left her speechless and she gaped at his suggestion. She was silent, long enough for him to regret proposing it, until the edges of her lips turned up._

_"Malfoy," she whispered in awe, her brows furrowing. He could see the playful glint in her eye as she asked him, "What do you take me for?"_

* * *

Ten years was ten years. In the scope of the world, it was little more than the blink of an eye. In the planes of his face, it was hardly a crease, but she could see it in other ways. The height and slant of his cheekbones were more pronounced. The tips of his nose and chin seemed sharper. The skin beneath his eyes was sunken and just slightly darker than his normal pallor. And, of course, there was his mark. Still discernible and unmistakeable, it scarred his skin despite how much it had faded. With his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, it was visible quite plainly to her, but only to her.

He didn't look ten years older, not in her eyes, but he felt as though he'd aged more than that since he'd last seen her. He felt as though he'd aged another decade in the moments it took her to collect herself, wiping her tears, slipping her ring back on, and gathering the remainder of her belongings up off his floor.

He should apologize. He should tell her it was all his fault. He should tell her not to go. He should tell her he loves her. Again. He should say it over and over and over until she tells him to stop. He should say it until he's hoarse and raw. He should say it until it's the only phrase he knows.

Or at least until she says it back.

"It's probably best if we don't talk - you know, if we see each other at the Ministry," she fussed with her coat, taking her time with the numerous buttons that ran the length of it.

 _So they would just pretend_ , he thought bitterly. They would pretend it never happened. They would pretend that they weren't making the same mistake that had brought them here in the first place. Draco couldn't tear his eyes away from her as she readied herself to leave.

He should plead with her to stay. He should get on his knees. He should tell her they can make it work.

"I guess I should thank you," she refused to look at him, staring down at her ring instead, "Tonight was," she laughed humorlessly and shook her head, unable to articulate it. He stepped forward, aching to reach for her.

"Spectacular?" The word didn't come out with quite as much bite as he had hoped. In fact, it had slipped off his tongue rather abruptly, but the sentiment was not lost on her. He could see its impact from the way she raised her head slowly, losing herself in the mercurial ocean of his eyes. Neither could have known just how much that night would change them, just how far it would lead them. It had been easy to believe at the beginning that they would only have to put up with each other for the course of the school year, and then they could part ways from there. It was easy to believe that they would never have to see each other again for the rest of their lives. It was easy to believe she could go on hating him for as long as she drew breath.

She didn't remember when she started to fall in love with him. She didn't remember when she started comparing every other man to him. She didn't even remember when she started to tolerate him more.

What she did remember was waking up beside him one morning, terrified that one day she would have to leave him.

"Yes," she said, smile faltering until all she wore was a miserable frown. She couldn't move away from him and she couldn't move towards him. A dense haze rolled in from the front of her mind, pervading her thoughts, her feelings, her senses, dulling the entirety of her being until all that surrounded her was fog. Quietly, she whispered, "Spectacular."

* * *

**ONE MONTH LATER**

Draco tossed the paper aside, joining the pile on his kitchen counter. _Was it too early to start drinking?_ he thought, glancing at the clock on the wall. With a grimace, he noted that he would be due at the Ministry in less than an hour. His eyes dropped back to the Daily Prophet. Her beaming smile was dazzling even in print and seemed to mock him all the more in black and white as she stared at him, or rather the camera, with those big doe eyes.

Every journalist, big or small, had been reporting on it for weeks now. It seemed she had wasted no time since their encounter to make her affairs known to the world. Draco's blood boiled in his veins; he hadn't believed it the first time he'd seen it. He found it to be more of a shock to have it affirmed in the Daily Prophet than to have seen that ring on her finger at the Ministry. Everyone knew now and that meant it was real.

So it greeted him every morning, twisting that knife she'd left in him with every emboldened word. The thought that she had run back to her fiancé just hours after being with him, after admitting she loved him, then leaked their engagement to every damned reporter -

Draco's wand was in his hand before he could think and the papers were on fire before he even felt the words pass through his lips. They dissolved within seconds, but the guilt, the anger, the crippling shame was still there.

Because she wasn't.

He turned to the liquor cabinet and pulled out an open bottle, then grabbed a tumbler and set it on the counter. He poured his drink without hesitation, but as he picked up the glass, he saw his hand shake the closer he brought it to his lips. His ring, with the family signet emblazoned on it, clinked against the tumbler and he bellowed a furious growl before lobbing the glass at the wall. It shattered gloriously, whiskey dripping down the paint to puddle on the floor. He muttered a quick charm and the glass returned to his hand, it and the contents intact. Draco yelled again, screaming his frustration at the top of his lungs and threw the tumbler again. It splintered from the impact and the shards fell at his feet. He spoke the charm once more and the glass had barely been in his hand for a second before it lay in pieces on the floor again.

* * *

_"You know, Granger, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind," Draco blinked rapidly, his lashes skimming the thick material of the tie, but he still couldn't see anything through it._

The darkness, he had it, too.

_"Oh, did you think you were going to use it on me first?" He could hear the racy sardonicism in her words, but all he felt were her sheets beneath his bare body as she watched him, "Malfoy, this is an opportunity I would never pass up."_

_He grinned as he heard her soft footsteps pacing the length of the room and felt an unusual flutter of exhilaration in his stomach. He couldn't think of many things in his life that he relinquished control over, least of all sex, but, then again, when had he ever bought a girl he was fucking a present? It was obvious that things were different with Granger. He supposed it might have something to do with the secrecy of it all; they didn't have to put on a public face because of it. Though they hadn't explicitly spoken about it, he knew she probably felt the same about keeping their activities just between the two of them. He was certain he didn't have half as much to lose as she did if somebody were to find out, but he had no interest in incurring the wrath of his parents by admitting Hogwarts' Golden Girl had caught his attention._

_Suddenly, he felt her nails running down his chest, causing him to shiver and his hand to snatch her wrist. Draco pulled her down on top of him with a gasp of surprise from her. The brush of material against his skin as her breasts pressed against him had him reaching for the clasp at her back, but she stopped him. Her breath fanned against his neck as she laughed, arousal spreading like wildfire from his abdomen at the sensation._

_"Draco, if you're going to be like this - ,"_

_"What?" He goaded her with a smirk, but was disappointed he couldn't see the irritation he knew was on her face. She grabbed something off her bedside table and muttered an incantation._

_"Granger, wa - ," his arms were yanked above his head as rope slithered from her wand and tightened his wrists to her bedpost._ _Draco gaped as he struggled against the spell and felt Hermione adjust herself so that she was straddling his waist. She leaned forward, lips grazing the shell of his ear. She nipped him playfully and he twitched beneath her, cursing at the intensity of the feeling._

_"I know we never talked about this," she began, breath hot against his skin, "And if you don't want to do it, I'll let you go right now and we'll never speak of it again. But this is something I didn't know I wanted and if you let me have it," her tongue laved a hot line up the swell of his throat, "You can do whatever you want to me once we're done."_

_Draco inhaled sharply, the scintillating promise too enticing to pass on. As hesitant as he was to give up not only one of his most primary senses, but also his ability to touch her, his imagination soon took over. Oh, what he wouldn't give to have her smart mouth at his discretion for a night. Or maybe he would restrain her just like this, give her a taste of her own medicine. A vision of Hermione trapped on her knees, hands twisted in front of her, his tie blinding her, while he sat behind her teasing her with fleeting touches came to mind. Oh, what he could do with a submissive Hermione for an evening. His cock twitched against her and she ground upon him in response._

_She raked her nails down his chest once more, pausing to draw circles at his abdomen. He shivered and felt a sheen of perspiration coat his skin._ Damn it, Granger! _He could already feel his irritation at her warring for dominance with his arousal for her._

_But he knew he wanted this. As absurd as it was to believe, he trusted her now. Whether that trust was born out of their mutual passion or their shared suffering or, maybe, something else he didn't know. It didn't matter anyways, he told himself, because the bottom line was he trusted her to do this. He wanted her to explore with him, to advance their echoed desires, to discover their boundaries. And maybe she wanted -_

_Every thought derailed when he felt her slender hand grip the base of his shaft. With a soft pressure, her thumb ran along the underside, squeezing when she got to the tip._

_"Well?" She teased when he hissed rapidly. A wide cheshire grin spread over her lips as she looked down at him. His pale hair was perfectly mussed, the muscles running through his arms were tensed in anticipation, flexing the mark on his forearm. His abdomen clenched beneath one of her hands as she splayed her fingers out, and that stupid, arrogant smile had been wiped clean off his face._

_"Get on with it," he snapped impatiently, bucking into her hand. Stroking his cock slowly between them, she leaned forward and planted her mouth on his. Just as he began to move against her, he felt her teeth bite into his bottom lip and he jerked beneath her. For a split second, he was embarrassed by how much more responsive to her touch he seemed to be in his helpless state, but then he realized, he didn't care. He didn't_ want _to be embarrassed. It felt_ good _,_ _and he had already come this far, farther than he'd ever thought he would with her._

_He supposed he could sacrifice his control, and his pride, for a moment of pleasure with her._

_She nipped at his jaw, down his neck, and then to his collarbone, leaving a trail of bruising marks in her path, ones that she hoped to admire the next day. It brought an odd sense of satisfaction to her seeing them peek out from under his collar. She rotated her wrist as she pumped his cock, his thighs flexing beneath her in response. He grit his teeth as he groaned and felt her smiling against his chest at the sound. His fingers clenched as the urge to reach for her became an itch he was desperate to scratch; this would be harder than he thought._

_Through half-lidded eyes, Hermione watched him luridly, an unquenchable fascination overtaking her. She delighted in seeing this man at her whim. He, who so often could bend her over with little more than a word or a look and took her with a fervor that rivaled her imagination, was now at the mercy of her touch. Every flick of her tongue or press of her lips or even the simple brush of her skin seemed to send him into a frenzy._

_She had found, through their time, that he was never more vulnerable, never more passionate, never more_ himself _than in the time they spent naked and tangled together. It was in that time that he would spill his innermost thoughts forth with a voice constricted by lust and urgency. It did things to her, things that she couldn't quite understand yet, because they weren't just physical things. His words didn't just make her tremble and curse and come - she found herself dwelling on them long after he had left the comfort of her body._

_That night, she had every intention of wringing out whatever deep desires lurked within the corners of his mind. Their time apart had left more than a physical ache in her bones; she realized that she had missed the intoxicating tone of his speech and the curl of his lip as he watched her release on his fingers. She might have even missed that wicked wit of his, too._

_Hermione slinked down the bed, settling between his legs as her fingers left his member. She could see the strain of his hands against the rope, the tightening of his abdomen in his desperation to move, and the twitch of his cock at her proximity. She wasn't quite sure when it had become such a staple of her arousal, but she took immense pleasure in his reactions to her touch. She greatly enjoyed the furrow of his brows as she teased him with her tongue, followed by that look of utter bliss and relaxation when she finally brought him into her mouth. There were much simpler things, too, like when they found themselves on the couch in the wee hours of the morning, unable to sleep and dire for some modicum of affection._

_It would start out innocently enough, with entwined fingers and brushing elbows. Then, as they grew more comfortable and the reverberations of their nightmares faded away, she would lean against his shoulder or he would hold her at the waist. It was always at that point, when the space between them gradually shrunk, that she grew bolder. She would place a kiss on his neck or a hand on his chest or sometimes simply whisper something in his ear. His response was never instant, it wasn't like a switch that she could flick on whenever she so wanted, and occasionally, rarely, that's all it would be; a kiss on his neck, a hand on his chest, a whisper in his ear. And then they would stay that way, falling asleep against each other like nothing had happened._

_But other times, it was an invitation and that hand around her waist would slip beneath her shirt or the waistband of her knickers. Lazy fingers would graze her bare skin, heating it wherever he touched. And then he would turn to face her with that craved look in his silvery eyes._

_There was no predator or prey; there was only hunger, a shared appetite for pleasure and a feast seen by both when they gazed at the other._

_That was perhaps the only aspect she regretted about her current situation. Hermione circled her tongue around the leaking head and a deep groan tumbled out of his mouth. His biceps tensed as he pulled against his restraints, his thighs squeezed her on either side, and his heartbeat thrummed beneath her fingers where they spread over his hips._

_But she couldn't see the look in his eyes._

* * *

"I told you I wanted to wait," Hermione was despondent as she sat down at the table with Cormac, the Prophet in her hands. Her own visage stared back at her and she averted her eyes. She had always been a very private person and had taken great care to not publicize her relationship with him at all, or any aspect of her life for that matter. As such, no paper had any photos of them together and instead had printed two separate photos of the couple side by side. She hated that photo of herself that they'd chosen; she was smiling so nervously, shaking her boss's hand at an announcement for her position at the Ministry. Under normal circumstances, the press wouldn't have been called for such an insignificant position, but Hermione wasn't normal. Not anymore.

"Yeah," he said plainly, slowly, as if she hadn't heard him the five other times they'd had this conversation, "Until you told your parents. Now you've told them, we don't have to hide it anymore."

"No," she threw the paper down, "I wanted to do this a certain way. You don't know what it's like for me."

"Hermione, darling, you act like it's such a bad thing to be famous," he rolled his eyes at her as he chewed on his toast. He had been itching to tell the press ever since he'd proposed months ago, but she had insisted that they wait. Now it was out there and she couldn't take it back. _Not that she should want to_ , she thought hastily.

"It is," Hermione breathed sharply, "It's been weeks now and they're still reporting on it. We could have done this another way, that's all I'm saying."

Cormac swallowed a large piece of toast slowly.

"Did I fuck up?"

The genuine worry in his features made her lower her head into her hands. She wasn't used to feeling so out of control. For so long she had had a plan for her life, but it was derailed the moment _he_ had stepped through that dormitory door. He didn't fit into that plan. Cormac did, though. A successful Quidditch captain and hero of the war marrying Hermione Granger, there was hardly a better match. But she was tired and angry, not at him, just at herself. She was exasperated by her own indecisiveness, something she had never dealt with before. And she felt guilty. . .

So, so guilty.

"No," she murmured, that familiar stinging burn gathering in her eyes. She began to rub them furiously.

_"Fuck, Hermione."_

"No," she said again, fighting against the lump swelling in her throat, "I just - I'm still not used to this. I'm sorry. I - ,"

She felt him reach across the table to take her hand. He pulled it away from her face gently and she hoped silently that her eyes weren't red with the threat of tears.

"It'll be okay," he smiled at her, that soft but dazzling smile that he'd managed to keep after all those years gracing his features. _Malfoy didn't smile like that_ , she thought. _When he smiled_ \- Hermione's heart skipped a beat. Malfoy _didn't_ smile, he smirked. He smirked that annoying, self-righteous, arrogant smirk.

But when he _smiled_. . .

"It'll all be over by the end of the month, they'll have found something else to move onto by then and forget about us," he shrugged nonchalantly.

Hermione drew her hand back carefully and nodded.

"Promise?" She asked with a weak grin.

"Promise," he said assuredly, "But I've got to go. I'll see you tonight. Don't stay too late again!"

He was out the door before she could respond, but as soon as it closed, she let the tears fall. The fog was thicker now, clouding her already muddled vision and clogging her chest until every sob triggered a pitiful shudder and every breath was another heartbreak.

* * *

 _It was too much already. That skilled tongue of hers kept sliding from his sack to his tip in an infuriatingly slow and repetitive motion. Every now and then she would mercifully pump his shaft, working him close to a heightened state, but then she would let him plateau with a simple flick of her tongue. The way she was teasing him, he wanted to grab hold of that ridiculous mane of hers and shove his cock down her throat, but all he could do was writhe beneath her, on the verge of begging her leniency._ Pathetic _._

_"Come on, Granger," he said through gritted teeth. She hummed at the base of him, sending a pleasant tremor up his length. The sensation of her tongue was on him again, a long warm, wet lick up to his head, every inch she covered then hit by her cool breath as she exhaled softly. But this time, she swiped her tongue around him, taking him partway through her lips. He dropped back against the pillow with a stressed curse. He felt certain he was going to combust if he couldn't get inside her mouth or her cunt soon._

_Hermione drew away, glancing her lips against the angular cut of his hips, her teeth grazing his sweat soaked skin. He growled and nearly shook the bed with the force of his pull at the ropes. Draco could feel her smirk and caught just a hint of her subdued giggle._

_"Granger, when this is over, I swear I am going to bend you over this bed - ,"_

_She spread her lips over his flared head and slipped down his length, coating his swollen cock in her warm spit as deep as she could take him on the first go. Draco choked on his words, a garbled groan rising from the depths of his chest. Testing the capacity of her throat to take in his girth, she bobbed up and down a few times, trying to engulf him further with each inhale._

_"Fuck, Hermione!" His hips jerked upwards, trying to match her rhythm, chasing her mouth every time she pulled back. Furiously and frustratingly, he found himself to be infinitely more sensitive given his captivated state._

_His voice broke into strangled moans, tortured and blissful sounds that caressed her pride and encouraged her movements. Through his pleasure, he lamented that he couldn't twist his fingers in her hair or watch her eyes as his cock disappeared between her plump lips. Twirling her hand around his base, she pulled up for air, stroking him as she steadied her breaths and ran a finger along her lip to cut off the string of spit that followed her._

_He couldn't wait to be inside of her, couldn't wait to sheathe himself to the hilt and feel her contract around him as she adjusted to the feeling of him again. As disastrous as his holiday had been, the thought of being with her again had helped him cope while he was away. The thought of finally feeling that peace as he plunged into her, that intimacy of cradling her against him as he fucked her, that pain of her hold on his back that grounded him - he wanted it all. He nee -_

_She cupped his sack as she swallowed his cock, taking him as far as she could, despite the resistance she felt with his length. She held him there for as long as possible as he shuddered and gasped and groaned, until his hips bucked up and she was forced to pull away with a retching cough._

Fuck _, came his frantic thoughts,_ fuckfuckfuck! _He needed to bury himself in her -_ shit _\- he needed to feel that tight cunt of hers clamping around him as she came, driving him to his own release. Merlin, he was going to die if couldn't touch her!_

 _The breaks between her taking him in and inhaling breaths became shorter and shorter, leaving him little reprieve from the assault of pleasure she was inflicting on his cock. He had to have her, had to hold her, had to_ fuck _her. It was the only way he could silence that buzz in the back of his mind. It was the only way he could regain his control. It was the only way he could feel okay again. It was the only way he could forget everything that had happened over the holidays. Because, as he lay there, subjected to her disastrously enjoyable touch, that buzz in the back of his mind told him that he would_ never _have control again. He would_ never _feel okay again. He would_ never _be able to forget all the wrong he had done._

_It didn't matter that this bewitching woman gave him pleasure tonight, because it would be gone one day. He didn't deserve peace or intimacy and the physical pain would only distract him for so long. The darkness was encroaching again, bleeding in from the fabric over his eyes._

_She held him in her mouth, tongue swirling as best she could around his girth, breathing sharp inhales through her nostrils. Yet, with all the noise in his head, he still couldn't abate his body's response, the tightening of his muscles, the coiling of pleasure, the approaching curve -_

* * *

**HOGWARTS HEARTTHROB WOOS WIZARDING WORLD'S GOLDEN GIRL**

**HOGWARTS HEROES TO WED: 'NEVER BEEN MORE IN LOVE'**

**HOW THE WIZARDING WORLD'S HOTTEST COUPLE FOUND THEIR MAGIC**

"I think it's quite hilarious actually," Ron remarked with a grin.

"Yeah, that one's pretty clever," Harry nodded and pointed to the bold headline on the front page of the Daily Prophet.

Hermione snatched the paper back.

"It's humiliating," she grumbled.

"Ginny and I went through the same nonsense before we got married," Harry reasoned, "They'll forget all about you in a month."

"Oh, yeah," Ron pointed at Harry, "'The Boy Who Loved.'"

Hermione frowned, glaring daggers at her two best friends.

"Oh, please, you two get off on it," she tossed the paper back on her desk.

"Well it is flattering, don't you think?" Ron chuckled, "That strangers care so much about your romantic life?"

"Not in the slightest," Hermione scoffed, "Just you wait until you and Padma have to go through this!"

"Let's just hope I take a better picture than you," Ron teased and Hermione swatted him on the arm.

"I never asked for this, you know."

"Well," Harry said sarcastically, features pulled straight, "Maybe you should have considered that before you decided to save the world with us."

Ron folded his arms over his puffed out chest, nodding alongside Harry.

"Out," Hermione pointed to her door, "I've got work to do."

"All right, we'll see you later," Ron grabbed Harry by the arm, uninterested in incurring the wrath of Hermione Granger, but Harry stopped short of leaving.

"Hey, you haven't seen Malfoy around have you?"

Hermione stiffened.

"No," she said coolly, "Why would I - ,"

"You know he's working here, right?" Harry asked.

"Bizarre, isn't it?" Ron poked his head back in.

"No, I - I didn't," she stammered, hoping she appeared as shocked as they were expecting her to be.

"Yeah, Ministry's brought him in because he's supposed to be some expert on dark artifacts," Ron bristled, "I guess if you've used enough of them that qualifies you as an expert."

"They think it could help us with the case we've been on," Harry nodded, "Which, it actually has, surprisingly."

"Oh," she nodded a twinge of irrational panic settling under her skin.

"Honestly, I thought he was going to be a right pain in the arse," Ron griped, "But he's actually been quite mellow, hasn't he?"

"For Malfoy, yeah."

"Oh," Hermione said again, lamely. She wished she could come up with something else, but, for once, words failed her.

"Well, we'll see you later," Harry slipped away, but Ron stayed behind, suddenly remembering something.

"'Mione, you and Cormac are still coming for Boxing Day, yeah?" he asked.

"Yeah, why?" Hermione's fingers were gripping the paper in her hand to the point it began to crinkle.

"Mum's made him a sweater this year," Ron raised his eyebrows comically; they knew what that meant.

"Molly's so sweet," she bowed her head, trying to hide the pain in her eyes, "Yeah, we'll be there."

"Great," he gave her a short wave and Hermione lifted a limp hand in response as he walked out of her office.

 _Shit._ Of course they were working with Malfoy. _Of course!_ Because it wasn't enough that she had fucked up this badly, that she had made the worst mistake of her life, _again_ , and potentially damaged her relationship with her fiancé beyond repair. No, now she had to be constantly reminded of it as well.

On top of it all, Molly had knitted Cormac his first Christmas sweater. Somehow that felt heavier than the ring on her finger, more permanent than the years they had been together, and less breakable than any vow she would make to him.

Hermione clasped a hand over her mouth and turned back to her desk. She couldn't go on like this, unable to think, unable to breathe, unable to live. The weight on her chest was worse than the fog pervading her mind, and she couldn't even talk to her best friends about it.

* * *

_"Shit!" He couldn't keep himself from bucking into her mouth, but he knew his release was rising through him, arching to its peak. As much as he enjoyed the heat of her throat, he couldn't finish before he felt himself inside of her again, not after so long, "Granger, if you make me come - ,"_

_His threat was cut short when he felt her swallow against his head._ It couldn't happen like this _, he thought desperately. He'd been miserable for days, weeks now. He didn't just need a release, he needed to_ have _her. He needed her calling_ his _name, moaning from the pleasure_ he _gave her, writhing beneath_ him _._

_He needed to feel -_

_"Stop," the gravity of his voice had her pulling away instantly._

_"Draco, are you - ,"_

_"Get these off," he was shifting his head wildly, searching for her in the dark._

_"Are y - ,"_

_"Off! Now!" he barked._

_"Okay, okay," she waved her wand and the ropes dissipated instantly. His hands shot up to rip the tie off his eyes and the first thing he caught sight of was his mark. As he shook, he swore he saw the snake move, undulating through the mouth of the skull. Hermione reached for him, clasping her fingers over the mark. She whispered softly, "Draco?"_

_He flinched at the sound of her voice, his hand jerking to catch her wrist in his hand._

_"Draco, I'm sorry if I went too far. I'm sorry, I didn't mean - ,"_

_"I need you," his voice was roughened, breaking as he fought against the poison of his own thoughts. Hermione blinked rapidly, her fingers twitching against his skin. She bowed her head, trying to catch his gaze, but he wouldn't look at her._

_"Draco," her other hand came up to his shoulder and he fell forward then, burying his face in her neck as his arms dropped to her waist._

_"I need you," he repeated; a pitiful, splintered plea. For the first time since she'd known him, Hermione felt her heart completely break for him, not just bit by bit, not piece by piece, it shattered wholly. He was more scared and lost and lonely than she'd ever seen him. And she didn't like it. She couldn't take pleasure in it, not that she ever had before, but she had once felt that he might have deserved whatever misery came his way. Hermione opened her arms to him, winding them behind his back. She didn't feel that way now. In fact, she felt angry. She needed him, too. She needed to be close to him, to comfort him like he did her._

_"Okay," her fingers twisted in his hair and she pressed a kiss to his neck. Draco pulled back far enough to force his mouth against hers roughly, his tongue pushing through the barrier of her lips to tangle with hers. She tightened her grip as he pushed her back, landing towards the foot of her bed._

_She had done her best not to think about him over the break. It made her too sad to dwell on how lonely he was while she was surrounded by her family and friends, laughter filling ever level of the Burrow. But the inevitable question came. She knew it would since she'd stopped writing to Harry and Ron. They had asked her how the year was going, what it was like being back, and, of course, how it was living with_ him _. She wasn't sure why, not then, but she lied. She said she hated it. She said they were always at each others' throats. She said that he hadn't changed one bit. She said that he still bullied her, demeaned her, and taunted her at every opportunity._

_Then, after everyone was asleep, she crept outside to stand in the fields beneath the moonlight, and cried._

_Draco settled his lips over the pulse point on her neck and sucked sharply, drawing her skin between his teeth until she moaned aloud. She hadn't meant to say it. She hadn't meant to tell them the full extent of the truth either, but she at least had wanted to tell them he was different, better somehow. But that didn't seem good enough. Words alone couldn't justify all the wrong he'd done. Or all the right he had been doing to her._

* * *

He was there again, as he had been, without fail, every night after work. Hermione stood beneath the awning of a closed shop across the street, skulking in the shadows like a dementor. She could see him hunched over the bar, nursing his drink and ignoring the sound of the door as it swung open to new patrons. She hadn't known what she was expecting the first night she'd decided to pass by, but when she saw him seated at the bar once more, she realized she had been hoping for it. He hadn't noticed her that time and she was grateful. If he had seen her, she wasn't sure she would have been able to stop herself from going inside. Now, it was a ritual. She knew he wasn't okay and this was her way of punishing herself for it.

Tonight though, she felt like she had an excuse. With a deep breath, Hermione hurried across the street and yanked the door open. She strode inside with more purpose than she actually felt, but didn't bother to get comfortable as she came upon him. His posture was slumped, glass in hand, and though he didn't look up, she knew he was aware of her presence.

"You're completely sloshed, aren't you?"

"What makes you say that?" To his credit, the slur of his words was marginal.

"Come on, Draco," she nodded towards the door, "Don't do this."

"You could have warned me," he said bitterly.

"What are you - ," her words were cut short when he fixed her with that steely gaze.

"Had to read it in the fucking Prophet," he finished his glass, "Have to read it every fucking morning."

"Draco," she sighed heavily and turned her eyes from him. She could feel the sting of tears beginning, "I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do," Despite his anger, he listened intently, "He wanted to make it public months ago. I told my parents after that night with you, because I thought that would fix things. I thought that - ,"

She brought a hand up to cover her mouth as a tear slipped down her cheek.

"I'm so sorry," she hiccuped. She couldn't imagine how he felt, how if their situations were reversed, she would be the one forced to endure his public romance with another woman, even after admitting that they -

He reached for her other hand, squeezing it tightly, the positioning of her diamond cutting into his palm.

"I can't turn my head without seeing your face plastered everywhere," his thumb ran over his lip as he looked down at their joined fingers.

"I know," she nodded and swiped the tear away, "It's miserable. They choose the worst photos of me."

"Come off it," he shook his head and lifted his eyes to hers.

"Are you okay?" Her voice broke as the words left her.

"What do you mean?" His brows scrunched together. How could he ever be okay again?

"Are you okay?" She repeated, "Are you going to be okay?"

"No," he answered simply, shrugging as if he had already made peace with that fact. Her entire body slumped with the weight he'd just placed upon her. She knew he wasn't okay, but she thought if she asked that he'd at least have the mercy to lie to her, "I love you," now that he had uttered the words twice to her, it didn't seem quite so daunting to say them aloud anymore, "I'm never going to be okay."

"Draco, I need you to be okay," she almost begged, exasperated.

"Piss off," he sneered and released her sharply; she had stung him deeply. He motioned to the bartender and tapped his glass.

"Draco, you need to stop this," she tried to sound firm, but he had effectively knocked the wind out of her sails.

"I know what I'm doing, Hermione," he watched the glass refill.

"Get you anything?" The man asked, nodding to Hermione.

"I'm fine, thanks," she gave him a weak smile and waited for him to leave before turning back to Draco.

"Why are you still here?" She took note of his thumb tapping the rim of the glass as he scrutinized her.

"I'm still worried about you," she answered honestly.

"Why don't you just leave me alone?" He snapped, "Let me wallow in my own pity in peace."

"Don't you dare put this on me," she said sharply, furious at his indignance, "I will own up to my part in that night, but I am not the reason you are drinking yourself into depression at a muggle bar."

"You don't think so?" He narrowed his eyes at her. Flushed, she muttered defensively,

"You didn't tell me you were working with Harry and Ron."

"What?" He scoffed, "What does it matter?"

"You can't tell them a thing," she commanded.

"You think I want to tell them?" He balked at her, "Are you mental?"

"It'd be just like you to gloat," she said viciously.

"Yeah?" He advanced on her, getting to his feet, "Like you're some conquest, another notch on my fucking cock?" He was angry now, staring her down, as he whispered darkly, "Is that what you want?"

Though she didn't back down, she could only stare at him, silent and pensive.

"You do, don't you?" He nodded, understanding, the breadth of his stature dwarfing her almost as much as his words, "Because it'd be so much easier for you then. I was wrong. You were never worried about things changing, you wanted them to change. You wanted it to go back to the way it had always been."

Hermione looked away, but Draco gripped her chin and yanked her back, forcing her to look at him.

"You'd rather loathe me," he didn't need her to confirm it, it was clear in her eyes, "You hoped everything would change."

His grip was tight on her, forceful, even though she had ceased trying to move away.

"You _hate_ that you love me," the clarity in his voice mirrored that of his mind, at least for the moment, but his revelation provided little comfort to him. He released her slowly, satisfied that he'd said his piece, but then she grabbed either side of his face and kissed him aggressively, the force of her lips and teeth on his mouth enough to bruise. She pulled back before he could ensnare her waist in his grasp.

"I _do_ hate you," she clarified, still holding tight to him, "Because you are the best thing that's ever happened to me," her eyes searched his, "And somehow the worst."

"I'm sorry I've caused you so much fucking pain," he spat sarcastically.

"You're impossible," she was laughing as she said it, but she dropped her hands to her sides and shook her head, "I wanted to tell you. I know I should have warned you we were going public, but I'm still trying to wrap my head around it myself."

Draco visibly slackened. He knew her well, he knew how much she valued her intimacy and privacy; he could only imagine how terrifying it all was for her. He knew he should feel guilty for how much more difficult he had made her situation, but if he was being honest, he was too selfish when it came to her. There was no room for remorse in the entirety of his feelings.

"I don't suppose you've read some of the articles?" She asked. He shook his head; he could barely make it past the nauseas headlines, "They're not exactly flattering. They drudge up any relationship I've ever had with a boy, lay out every sordid detail for the world to see. And then they have the audacity to assume that 'he's the one.' Do you know how much pressure that puts on me to make things work? Like I'm a failure if I don't stay with him and see this through."

"Hermione," he began but she glared sternly at him.

"They don't do that to Cormac. With him it's all about how I broke his heart sixth year and then he swept me off my feet after the war," he watched her swallow roughly, "The war changed him. Just like it did everybody," she said quietly, "He's still managed to keep his schoolboy tendencies and of course he drives me up the bloody wall, but he was there, he fought, he's not the same selfish git he was before."

Once again, Draco found himself comparing his qualities to Cormac, but this time, he knew he came up short. He was still a coward. Dropping back on his stool, he looked up at her just as the bartender approached.

"Another?"

"No," Draco shook his head, barely glancing over, "I'm set."

A receipt was dropped between them and Hermione's eyes fell to it quickly. Seven glasses. He knew how to hold his liquor, but she couldn't help the unease that settled in her stomach at the thought of him drinking his sorrows away.

"Went to Gringotts to exchange some galleons for muggle money," he fished in his pocket and pulled out some pounds, "Figured I'd need them if I came here often enough."

"And do you?" She watched as he tossed them on the counter, knowing the answer already.

"Mhm. It's quite therapeutic."

"Draco," she had meant to admonish him, but the air was sucked from her lungs instead, "I can't be responsible for you. It's hard enough trying to get back on my own two feet."

"You're not," he reminded her harshly, "You can't blame me for your problems either, Hermione. It's like you said, we made our decisions ten years ago."

She felt stunted by the bluntness of her words uttered from his mouth.

"Come on, Granger," he nodded towards the door, "Help me walk this off."

She followed him silently out of the pub and down the snow covered street. Without a word, he took her hand, pocketing it inside his coat as he laced their fingers together.

* * *

I need you _, he had said._ I need you. _Hermione cupped the back of his neck as he hovered above her, lips moving continuously over hers. Her free hand roamed up and down his back, over the front of his chest, exploring every part of his body within her reach. What exactly did he need from her? She trailed down to the base of his shaft, encircling him in her soft grip. He groaned against her, dropping his head to her shoulder while he hooked his thumb under the crotch of her knickers. Draco pushed the thin material aside, sliding two fingers up and down her slick entrance. He pulled back to watch her eyes flutter and glaze over with lust, losing himself for a moment in the peace her chocolate orbs promised him._

_"Yes, Draco," she moaned and shifted her hips, rubbing herself against the tips of his fingers._

_"You've had your fun, Granger," he smirked devilishly and her heart stuttered; she felt so relieved to see that look on his face again, "You're mine now."_

_Hermione went rigid as soon as the words were out of his mouth. She couldn't believe what he'd just said, but there it was, slithering under her skin, burrowing into her chest, coiling around her heart and tightening its grip until she felt like she couldn't breathe. Draco continued to work her, unencumbered by her response, or perhaps oblivious to it. He dropped his mouth to her breast, capturing her nipple through the cup of her bra and like a defensive response, she keened, arching into him. But it wasn't enough; he needed more, needed his thoughts to be drowned out by her scintillating cries. He slipped two fingers inside of her, widening them when he'd passed the first knuckle._

_"Fuck," she cursed and grabbed hold of his arms. Her eyes shut and her head fell back as he pumped into her slowly, his tongue laving over the lace covering her breast. Her body began to shake beneath him, muscles seizing every time he curled his fingers to pet her upper walls, "Draco!"_

_"I want you on your knees," his teeth moved up to graze her collarbone nipping hard enough that she yelped, "So I can fuck this sweet cunt of yours," he brought his thumb to her clit, brushing against it, but denying her the pressure to get her off. She whimpered and shut her eyes, her entire frame shaking beneath him, "Look at me, Granger," a small, wretched sound passed her lips as she obeyed him. His eyes were slate, clouded by the same darkness she'd seen in him on those late nights - another squeeze of her heart, "You're going to scream for me - ,"_

_"Dr - ," the stroke of his fingers cut her short, so she shoved at his shoulder. The gravel in his voice, roughened and tortured, promised more than his words let on and it scared her, but he didn't budge. He quickened inside of her, the squelch of her arousal almost drowning her moans out, and her hips bucked into him. It was too much, too much pleasure and confusion and need._

_"Tell me, Hermione," he hissed into her ear, the oppression of his heat against her bordering on suffocation, "Tell me how badly you want it."_

_Too much anger and passion and despair._

_"Draco, I-I can't - ,"_

_"You've been waiting for this haven't you?" He whispered, licking a hot line up her neck, "So eager for my cock - filthy little - ,"_

_"No," broken as she sounded, she shoved at him again, harder this time, and his fingers slipped out of her. She pushed him off, scrambling to her knees as he looked at her, utterly confused._

_"Hermione - ,"_

_"What is wrong with you?!" Her bottom lip trembled as she pulled the straps of her bra back into place. His jaw set tight and he clenched his fists at his sides. She tried not to look at his hardened, throbbing cock that hung between his legs, waiting for her, but it was that or the churning silver of his eyes and she could only hold them for so long. There was something there now, pushing through the darkness, raw and angry and - and hurt._

_He stood from her bed abruptly, yanking his trousers back on and collecting the rest of his clothing._

_"Draco, I didn't mean - ,"_

_He slammed the door behind him before she could move._

* * *

"What are you doing for the holidays, Granger?"

She watched his breath puff out into the air and the chill around them inspired color in his cheeks.

"We're going to my parents' house for Christmas Eve. Cormac's parents will come over on Christmas Day. Then, on Boxing Day we'll go to the Burrow."

"Ah, Weaslebee. What does he think of Cormac?"

"You know you shouldn't call him that anymore if you're working together."

"Well, not to his face," Draco chuckled and Hermione shook her head. It was still fairly early in the night, so the streets were moderately packed. Even though she felt a twinge of anxiety at their proximity, they were only surrounded by muggles, none of whom were aware of the incredibly taboo nature of their relationship. To them, they could have just been a couple on an evening stroll. She felt herself relax a little at the thought. They didn't have to worry about anyone recognizing them, not out here.

"Have you picked a dress yet?" The question was so casual that she wondered if he actually felt that way about it. Was he coming to terms with the finality of it all?

"No. Actually, we haven't set a date yet."

"I assume I'm not invited," he joked.

"You'll crash it anyways though, won't you?"

"And watch you marry someone else?" He stared ahead, but his thumb stroked the back of her hand as it rested in his pocket, "I'm not that much of a masochist, Granger."

"Why do you keep talking like that?" Her voice dropped, tainted by her own confusion and malaise.

"About masochism?"

She yanked her hand free and turned him to face her.

"About marriage," she said furiously, "Why do you keep talking about it like it was ever an option for us?"

He stared blankly at her.

"That night, you asked me if it was you, would I have said yes," she spat.

"You never answered me," he tucked his hand back in his pocket and glared at her, "Would you have?"

"That's not reasonable, Malfoy," she sighed and put a hand to her head.

"Fuck reason for once in your fucking life!" he bellowed, drawing the attention of a few passersby. She stiffened and looked up into his fierce gaze, "If I had asked you to marry me, would you have?"

"We were eighteen. We were too young!" She protested, "Neither of us would have wanted that then."

"Then imagine we never broke up - ,"

"We were never dating, Draco, that wasn't a relationship!"

"Imagine we were still together, imagine we stayed together," he barreled through her dissents, "Imagine I had asked you to marry me five, six, seven years later - whatever amount of time you deem _reasonable_ \- imagine you and I lived together in a quaint little cottage by the sea or some gaudy flat in the city. If I had asked you to marry me, would you have?"

"Don't joke like that," she was seething, her heart constricting, her mind a jumble of the images and scenarios that he was feeding her.

"I'm not joking," there was no brevity to his tone or words as he said bluntly, "I am asking _you_ , Hermione Granger, would you marry me?"

She froze against his imposing form, captivated by the sheer terror in his eyes, the vulnerability that he offered her as he waited for her answer. She was assaulted by a very vivid and impossibly real vision of Draco draped around her as they lay in bed together. As the sun brightened the space around them, they did not look away from each other, hands roaming, lips grazing, the fire between them burning. And then he pauses, mouth setting to a sober line, but he tells her he loves her more sweetly and genuinely than she's ever heard anyone say it in her life. He tells her he's done waiting, he's done being miserable, he's done with the past. He says he's ready to move forward, to look to the future, to be with her. Hermione shut her eyes briefly; it felt too real.

"Yes," she whispered softly, but surely, looking back up at him. His eyes were bright in the dark, focused on her so intently that she might well have been the only thing in his vision. She nodded and bowed her head, ashamed, but elated and trying to hide it from him, "Yes, I would."

She gasped in surprise as he pulled her towards him swiftly. His lips crashed against hers with all the elegance of a man drunk on liquor and love, but it was no less tantalizing than any other time she had kissed him. As his hands left her hips, they came up to clasp hers to his chest. She could feel the rapidity of his heart, a rhythm so familiar to her. Hermione shut her eyes as she reveled in him, forgetting for a solid moment about Cormac and the weight of the engagement ring on her finger. The only thing that mattered was the way Draco held her so securely against him, the way his lips felt as they exchanged unspoken words, the way it felt to give in to the one thing she truly wanted. He stroked her fingers as they pulled away, silvery orbs churning with a sincerity she so rarely saw from him.

"Would you?" Draco asked her again.

"Yes," she nodded, her eyes never leaving his. The only thing that mattered was the way the man in front of her was looking at her with unhindered ardor, admiration, and affection, completely in awe of the woman that held his heart.

* * *

_"You left this in my room," Hermione stepped towards the couch and laid the silver tie over the arm. Draco had been avoiding her for days, but there was only so much he could do when they shared a dorm together. She had taken his late night visit to the common area as an invitation to finally approach him, but he didn't spare her a glance, his eyes trained on the fire, his wand trapped in a vice like grip, except for his thumb that tapped against it rapidly. She wanted to join him, sidle up next to his warmth on the couch and relish in his comfort, but she thought it best that she give him some space, so she seated herself on the floor instead. Crookshanks slept soundly in his bed on the hearth and Hermione watched him for a long breath, before turning her head back to Draco. She could see how hard he was concentrating not to look at her, to focus on whatever was going through his mind instead._

_She opened her mouth to apologize; she hadn't meant to speak so harshly to him. In the past few days, she had been able to reflect on that night, recounting the events until her stomach roiled with unease. It wasn't so much the choice of his words that had disturbed her, it was more so the way he had spoken them. When they echoed in her mind, she couldn't help but imagine him reciting them in her ear as he pounded into her from behind. Eventually, though, the chill of his voice permeated her arousal, fracturing her fantasy until she had nothing to hold onto. Nothing except the words,_ "You're mine now."

_Hermione breathed deeply. There had to be someway to explain it to him, but how could she if she didn't even understand it herself?_

_"I never asked you how your Christmas was," she remarked quietly, suspecting that that might have something to do with his obvious turmoil. Somehow, it seemed like a safer place to start, too. Remembering the conversation he'd had with his father before the break, her heart gave an odd little ache and she asked, "How are your parents?"_

_"Don't force it, Granger," He said stiffly and she saw the hand on his knee tighten into a fist. She exhaled softly; she wouldn't be deterred so easily._

_"Every year my mum makes these biscuits. It's our family's tradition. We have Christmas stencils so we can shape them like trees or snowmen - it's always the same - but every year she changes the flavor of them. The year before we had lemon and before that it was coconut. This time she made pumpkin," Hermione's voice quieted as she trailed off, realizing that that was it, that was all she had to contribute. There was nothing more, no point to her story, no moral to impart on him, just something she felt like she needed to tell him._

_She drew her knees up under her chin, her socks dragging against the rug beneath her. In the silence, she heard him rustle, then felt his hand on her shoulder. She smiled to herself, keeping her eyes ahead for fear that if she looked up at him, the moment would disappear._

_"They were delicious," she continued, "I must have eaten ten in one sitting. Completely ruined my appetite for dinner, though."_

_His thumb stopped tapping._

_"When I was younger, my dad and I would see who could eat more. We gave each other two minutes to beat the other's record," his fingers gathered in her hair, winding the strands around, "It's things like that that I could never replace with magic," she said thoughtfully, "Baking with my mum, the process of it, getting flour and sugar everywhere, cleaning up our mess afterwards."_

_With her gaze forward, trained on the fire, Draco stole a quick glance at the sated smile on her lips. There was so much of her he still didn't know, didn't comprehend. How could he miss her then? How could he explain to her how different his Christmas had been? How could he make her understand? And if she didn't, couldn't, how was he supposed to cope with that? He had overstepped with her already, losing himself in a moment of deprivation and passion, and she had cruelly rebuffed him. It seemed there was a limit to their desire after all. She had promised him_ anything _, but he shouldn't have assumed she would like_ anything _. His predilections mostly consisted of him maintaining control over his partner, but even without that silly tie, she always managed to make him feel powerless._

_He drew his hand back to rest it on his knee again. Hermione flinched, but didn't look to him, even as she heard his thumb tapping against his wand once more._

* * *

Hermione stepped back, out of his reach. She looked desperately at him, like she needed to say something, but couldn't quite push the words out. She moved away until her heel hit the curb, but he didn't reach for her. Civilians passed between them as they stared resolutely at the other, then she turned and walked off. She was losing count of how many times she walked away from him now, but she suspected he knew. As she quickened her pace, she twisted the ring on her finger. It was late and her fiancé was expecting her. She cut down a narrow alleyway and apparated home. Cormac poked his head out of their bedroom when he heard the familiar pop of her arrival. He strode over to her, half undressed and arms outstretched.

"How was work?" He asked, before pulling her into a kiss. She shortened it to a quick peck on the cheek.

"Good," she stepped back from him, exaggerating the space she needed to remove her scarf and coat. Work seemed so far away. Did she even go to the Ministry today? What had happened before she'd stepped into that bar to see him? "We're making exceptional progress with the centaurs and the repopulation of thestrals has been quite successful since we started that initiative," she rattled everything off like she was reading it from one of her documents, "I suspect we'll have a whole new habitat for them by the end of next year."

"Ooh," he flashed her a grin as she hung her garments on the rack by the door, "There's nothing sexier than hearing you talk about magical creatures going at it."

Hermione rolled her eyes as he sauntered closer. He reached a hand up to play with a few tendrils of her wild hair and she stiffened at the touch.

"I know you've been very busy lately," the suggestion in his voice coiled her stomach into a knot. Her breathing became shallow as her chest tightened, "And what with the season starting soon," _Oh, yes!_ He would leave soon to train with his team. She swallowed against the elation that thought alone brought her. It wasn't that she would be without him, it was that she would finally have some time to be _alone._ She would finally have space to think and breathe. To live, "And it's been a while since we've been together, so I thought maybe tonight - ,"

"I'm really tired," she blurted out, ducking her head. She had hoped to save him from the shame of being rejected so stoutly by cutting him off before he even had a chance to ask, but her mind was elsewhere. She watched him deflate, hand dropping to his side. Hermione tried to recover, "I think I just need to take a bath and go to bed."

She closed her mouth before she could lead him on with the prospect of another time; she had made too many of those promises in recent weeks.

"Why don't I join you?" He tipped her chin towards him, eyes earnest and pleading, "We'll light candles, put in some of that bubble stuff you like - ,"

"Not tonight," she said, a bit more firmly. He stared at her blankly and she screwed her eyes shut as she took a breath. She didn't open them again until she spoke, "I'm sorry."

When he remained silent, she stepped around him, bowing her head to the floor. She wasn't apologizing for not having sex with him, that wasn't something she owed him. Rather, she was apologizing for having sex without him, for going behind his back, for sharing such an intimate experience with someone else, for loving a man that wasn't him.

But she knew she owed him more than an apology for that.

"Hermione, it's been - ," he sighed and rubbed his head, turning to watch her go, "I don't want to say I've been counting, but it's been a while."

Five weeks and two days.

"I know," she paused just before their bedroom and cast a glance back at Cormac. She couldn't say anything more, not without lying to his face, again, so she simply repeated, "I'm sorry."

"This is about the papers, isn't it?"

"No," she sighed and shook her head, taking a step towards him.

"You're still mad at me," he said fiercely, his temper flaring ever so slightly.

"I told you," she sighed heavily, crossing her arms over her chest, "It's not that."

Hermione pinched the skin of her wrist lightly; she could feel her anger rising, but she didn't want to incite yet another fight. Why couldn't he just leave it alone? Why couldn't she just be honest with him? Why couldn't she stop hurting him?

"Then what is it?!" He questioned, exasperated, "I don't know where you've been the last month."

"What are you talking about?" She scrunched her brows together.

"You're never around," he shrugged, defeated, "It's like we're roommates, just seeing each other in passing. You don't talk anymore - you can't even look at me."

At that, she snapped her eyes up to his. She grappled with herself to keep them there. Looking at him meant she had to confront everything that had happened that night with Draco, everything she'd tried so hard to forget. But she knew she hadn't tried hard enough.

"What is it?" He asked again, calmer that time, "What's going on with you?"

Hermione shifted on her feet, her lips parting to lie, but she stalled herself. The fog was clearing. She could see the truth like a lighthouse splitting through the darkness and on the other side of it, freedom. Maybe it didn't involve Cormac or marriage or children, at least not now, not like she had planned, but perhaps she could be happy. She felt the tears come before she even had a chance to fight them, but as they blurred her vision, she realized it became easier to look at him. He started towards her but she raised her hand, palm flat and facing him. He stopped short, confused and angry and with an aching suspicion that nauseated him as it grew.

"There's something I need to tell you," she wished that she could have conjured even an ounce of sadness to impart in her words. She wished she didn't sound like she was reciting a passage from one of her schoolbooks. She _was_ sad. She had shared years with Cormac and they were good years. They had fought and made up and stumbled and picked themselves back up and fallen apart and pieced everything together once more. So she was sad, truly, but she was also relieved, because the more she thought about it, about that freedom, the happier she felt.

* * *

_"HARRY!" Hermione jolted upright, awoken by her own tortured scream. The memory of his limp body was seared into her eyes and she collapsed forward, curling into herself as she sobbed._

_"Hermione," her door flew open and Draco rushed onto the bed. He picked her up effortlessly, positioning her in his lap as he cradled her. She clawed at his shirt, wailing into his chest until her throat was raw._

_"He was dead," she blubbered, "He was dead, I saw him!"_

_Draco stroked her back, his fingers stiff against her; he didn't like this nightmare of hers, but at least it wasn't the worst one._

_"He's okay," he said softly, "It wasn't real."_

_Draco didn't understand why he wanted to shoulder her sadness, why he wished they were his tears instead of hers. He couldn't remember leaning on another person ever, for anything. For so long he had believed that his confidence in Snape was what ultimately ended his life. How could he afford to make that mistake again? His sorrow, his pain, his fear, his anger - all of it was his to bear, alone. So why did he want hers as well? Wasn't it enough?_

_Even as he pondered that, opening his arms to covet her, he felt the vacuum of his soul widening to accept the shadows that clung to her. It didn't matter if he took in more darkness. He was made of darkness, born in it, extruded by it._

_But she was light. Everything about her exuded it, radiated it. It was not fair that she should be tainted by it. She didn't deserve it. But he did._

_"It makes me so angry," she sobbed, words hiccuping around her breaths. She wailed again, clinging to the back of his shirt like she did when he penetrated her deeply, "They didn't have to die!"_

_Draco buried his face in her hair, partly in comfort and partly so that she could not see the look on his face, the guilt, the fear, the fragility. Every wrack of her body was accompanied by a violent sniffle of sorrow and all he could do was hold her tighter, squeezing his arms around her middle._

_"I wanted to kill them," she admitted, "All of them."_

_He squeezed his eyes shut; he hated that he could imagine such a scenario - a bloodied Granger wielding her wand ferociously as she bellowed the Killing Curse, cutting down the very Death Eaters that had taken her friends from her. Still, he doesn't tell her she doesn't want that, he doesn't tell her how much she would regret it, he doesn't tell her that that's not who she is. He lets her live in her anger and sadness, settling in beside her. She has spent her whole life being good and honest and decent and brave. So he lets her imagine she is somebody else for a moment, somebody with the cowardice to kill, the disease to maim - somebody who could lie and steal and hurt._

_He doesn't tell her that he doesn't want that for her, because he knows what it feels like to be told what to do, how to feel, why to live. And he would never shame her for wishing things were different, because he knows she would never do that to him. But he does wonder, only for a moment, if he was one of "them."_

_"I'm sorry," she whimpered, "I'm so sorry."_

_"For screaming another man's name," he jostled her slightly to let her know he was only trying to lighten the mood, "I'll recover."_

_"No, I'm sorry about the other night," she lifted her glassy eyes to his, but seeing the depths that lay there, she almost lost her nerve, "I should have asked you first if that was something you'd be comfortable with."_

_"You think I didn't enjoy that?" There was an odd mixture of lust and pain in his voice, even as he brought her closer. Her cheeks flushed, but they could hardly be seen in the dark._

_"You were so," she struggled for the word and even when she found one, it still couldn't describe how he'd seemed to her that night, "Contentious."_

_"Contentious?" He asked with a chuckle._

_"You yelled at me, Draco," he shifted beneath her, spreading his legs so that she could sit more comfortably on the bed, "And then you - ,"_

_She trailed off; she still didn't know how to describe it._

_"I'm sorry," he whispered._

_"What's the matter?" She asked earnestly and Draco understood then what she had meant that night. In some way, she was able to pervade his mind, listen beneath the words he uttered, and see beyond what he presented to her. Draco tipped his head back, he couldn't stand the look on her face then. He couldn't fathom how she could be so sincere, so honest, so compassionate, after everything he'd done. But there she was, and she wanted to know, she entreated him to trust her with this burden. He couldn't begin to comprehend the terror that thought incited in him. It wasn't hers to take on and how could she ever understand it if she did?_

_"It wasn't you, Granger," his hold tightened, "It's never you."_

_When he looked back down, it was with a vulnerability she was coming to know all too well. Somewhere in the vast silver of his gaze lay the truth and she felt an incomparable urge to search for it. But what if he dismissed her questions? Was it silly of her to think she was entitled to an answer merely because they had fucked each other a few times?_

_She wanted to tell him that he could confide in her if he needed to, that she would be there for him - she_ wanted _to be there for him. But there had to be a limit. She knew that this agonizingly infinite desire for him had to end somewhere. Maybe they would become too comfortable, too dependent, too embroiled in the other that their interests would dull to a barely noticeable glimmer, like an overindulgence of her favorite sweets._

_The thought saddened her. Perhaps it was best to protect what they had, prudent even, lest she ruin a perfectly good thing by being too pushy. After all, it wouldn't be the first time somebody had told her that._

* * *

She had ignored her initial response to run to Draco that night. It wouldn't be fair and she had caused enough pain for one evening. Standing at the stoop of her parents' house, she flipped through her keys until she found her spare. With nothing but her beaded bag, she slipped quietly into the foyer and flipped the lock behind her. She left her shoes by the door and tiptoed up the steps to her old bedroom. As soon as she came into the hallway, a soft meow greeted her. Hermione dropped to her knees, depleted and rattled, frail and broken, and scooped Crookshanks into her arms. He nuzzled her chin and purred openly, oblivious to the tears that streamed down her cheeks, but utterly affectionate just the same.

With her cat in tow, she went to her room and laid back on her bed. Crookshanks sprawled across her stomach, flattening himself with a contented chirp as Hermione absently scratched the spot behind his ear.

The last time she'd been in her bedroom had been with Cormac when they'd stayed for a weekend in the summer and, though the memory was called up as she stared at the ceiling, she was surprised, and dismayed, to realize that she hardly felt any anguish at the thought. Did that make her heartless? As much as she wanted to punish herself for what she'd done, she knew that wasn't it. She had spent so much of her life trying to be the best, at everything. She had to be first in her class, she had to know all that she could study, she had to be daring, courageous, and virtuous. So, wasn't it possible for her to fail so spectacularly at one thing? Just one.

She wished she could go to Draco. She wanted him to wipe her tears away and soothe the indented skin of her finger from where the ring had been for so long. But she couldn't have forgiven herself if she ran to him. She didn't break up with Cormac for him. She didn't abandon one of her oldest friends for him. She didn't leave this man that she'd shared years with crying on the couch in their flat, that they'd bought together, for him.

She did it for her, because as difficult a notion as it was to accept, this decision was overdue. Her own fears and anxieties had gotten the better of her for too long. Now, she had to see this through, diverging on a path that she had no plan for, but one that was hers, alone.

* * *

_"What's the matter?" Draco stilled his hips, holding himself above her._

_"Nothing," she shook her head, fingers curling around his biceps as she fought against the fog in her mind. He furrowed his brows; she had that look on her face, that one that he had seen many times now. She was worried, dwelling obsessively on something it seemed she didn't want to share with him, "I'm sorry, it's just the homework."_

_He sat back on his heels, pulling himself from her with a frown._

_"You're thinking about homework now?"_

_"No, no, I," she scrambled into a seated position so it didn't feel like he was looking so far down at her, "I'm sorry. I'm distracted."_

_"I know," he said gruffly. She found it difficult to meet the scrutiny of his eyes, afraid of giving away too much. If he stared at her long enough, she knew he would be able to decipher the problem, but she couldn't bear to say that it was him._

_"I think I'm tired, maybe we should just go to bed," she said meekly._

_"Yeah," he sighed and stepped onto the floor, picking up his discarded pajamas to redress. But as he pulled on his trousers, he heard the floorboard creak and looked up to see her stepping through his open doorway. She turned back to peer at him, guilt and apprehension evident on her face. He asked her slowly, carefully, "You're not sleeping in here tonight?"_

_"Well, let's be honest," she said lightly, forcing a laugh as she clutched her clothes to her chest, "If I did, we wouldn't be doing much sleeping, would we?"_

_He didn't tell her that he had been keeping track of every night they'd fallen asleep together, because those were the only nights he ever actually_ did _sleep. So, he simply nodded and watched her retreat to her side of the dormitory. She would have another nightmare tonight. In a few hours, he'd be running into her room to quell her fears, such was becoming a familiar pattern for them._

 _Draco slumped back on his bed, clasping his hands behind his neck as he bowed forward. Something was going on between them, something had been going on between them for a while now. He knew he was just as responsible for it, but he couldn't begin to understand it. He had enough on his mind what with the impending end of the school year, that itself bringing with it the pressure and expectation of having to survive outside of the four walls he had been occupying for so long. He would have to find a job, something on his own, without his family's help. He would have to tell his parents he was moving out. He would have to be alone. Even though that was how he'd felt most of his life, he had always had his parents and their strict upbringing or his Aunt Bellatrix and her disciplinary torture or Vold -_ him _to whisper in his ear._

_Draco couldn't worry about her right now, or whatever it was she had going on. It was foolish of him to think he could adopt her darkness as his own. It wasn't his business anyway. She didn't trust him; if she did, she would have confided in him._

_But as he lay back on his bed, he couldn't help but feel the emptiness of her absence. He reprimanded himself It was something he would have to get used to, sleeping alone again._

* * *

"You will go, won't you, Draco?" Narcissa reached across the small table for her son's hand. He squeezed her fingers affectionately, before drawing his arms into his lap.

"I really don't want to," he admitted, avoiding her gaze by looking around at the deserted café they'd agreed to meet at. He hadn't been back to the Manor in over five years, and as much as his mother tried to coax him for a visit, he always insisted on meeting on what he referred to as "neutral ground." She understood, even if it broke her heart to think that her husband and her son might never reconcile their differences.

"It would be good for you to make a public appearance like that," she suggested, stirring the coffee before her in a motion so regal and indicative of her upbringing.

"For the family?" he watched a small child waddle down the street, tiny hands clutched by her parents'.

"Yes," she agreed, "But mostly for yourself. You need to socialize more, especially with people your own age, and more specifically with _women_ your own age. You can't continue to have coffee with your mother every weekend for the rest of your life."

"You're much better company than them," he turned back to her with a soft smile.

"You should save that flattery for the party," she rolled her eyes, then settled them back on Draco. His cheeks were sunken like he hadn't been eating and his normally bright eyes had dulled, set in dark circles she hadn't seen since he returned from Hogwarts. He never did tell her what happened then, but she had always supposed it was the weight he'd carried from leaving the Manor so soon after, "You will go, won't you? For my sake?"

"I suppose I have to, then, don't I?" He grimaced and looked off into the distance. He didn't want to go, because he knew who would be there.

* * *

Draco loitered at the bar stationed in the lobby of the Ministry, nursing his second tumbler of whiskey when she appeared out of the crowd. In an emerald gown that fell over her body like a waterfall of silk, he wanted to think she was making a statement, but maybe she just knew how good she looked in that color. He swallowed the rest of his drink, bolstering his courage to approach her.

"Where is he?"

Hermione tensed at the deep gravel of his voice. It hit the base of her spine, vibrating up the length of her exposed back until it raised the hairs at the nape of her neck. Draco thought it a crime that she didn't have some intricate jewel to grace that slender neck, but then she turned to face him and he understood why. Ever the modest sophisticate, the neckline of her dress scooped barely below her collarbone, exposing little to nothing to the wandering eye. She had even made sure, no doubt with the help of a charm, that the material adequately covered the sides of her breasts. That, too, seemed a crime, but only because the thought of what lay beneath the gown appealed to him so greatly. He was sure that, had she been on his arm that night, he would have loathed the idea that some other man would be able to look at her the way he did, the way he was now.

"He's not here," her fingers tightened at the stem of her glass as she lowered it, something bright and colorful fizzing in the flute. Her response startled him out of his fantasy of peeling the garment off of her, but in his stupor he'd nearly forgotten what he'd asked, "Why? Hoping for a quick snog?"

The ruddy tint of her cheeks and slight slur of her speech told him that wasn't her first drink. It seemed neither of them particularly enjoyed rubbing elbows at the Ministry Holiday party. Rather than respond to her snark, he took hold of her hand and dragged her away swiftly.

"I was kidding!" she hissed sharply, keeping her voice low while they moved through the crowd, her eyes frantically scanning the room to ensure they weren't being watched. He didn't respond, pulling her past the fountain and down the hall of fireplaces, "Draco, what are you doing?"

"Getting you alone," he pulled her behind one, pushing her back against the cold marble. She gasped, arching her back away from the frigid surface, but was met with Draco's firm stature. Hermione tore her eyes from his to peer around the darkened space. A flash of green caught her attention as somebody arrived at the far end of the room. They listened quietly as the clack of heels hurried towards them, and then passed. Draco's hand closed over hers and she realized how close she had been to letting the flute slip from her hand. When silence surrounded them once more, she breathed a sigh of relief, breasts grazing his chest in a way that had not gone unnoticed by him, "Nothing underneath I take it?"

Hermione bit back the raunchy retort she so ardently wished she could aim at him. She didn't need to let on just how much he'd already gotten under her skin, what with his dark tailored suit, styled, but not gelled, hair, and those disturbingly silver eyes that seemed to darken with every second he spent in her presence. With a soured expression, she reached her hand up to grasp the deep emerald colored tie tucked into his vest. Her thumb brushed over the material, following the subtle pinstripe pattern adorned by each thread. She pulled it free, twisting the tie around her hand until Draco was compelled to bow his head so she didn't choke him.

"Why is it," her eyes narrowed, but he could see how difficult it was for her to concentrate in her inebriated state, "You don't wear the one I bought for you?"

Draco scoffed and brushed his nose against hers. His breath fanned over her lips and she jerked her head to the side.

"Green, because it's Christmas," even though she couldn't meet his gaze, she pressed on, "I get that. But you always - ,"

"Is that why you're wearing this?"

He plucked at the delicate strap on her shoulder, nearly slipping it down her arm.

"Black suits you, obviously," she turned her head, focusing on the tiles at their feet, and pressing on despite his inquisition, "But gray - ,"

"If you'd wanted to coordinate our outfits, Granger, you could've - ,"

"It was like looking into your eyes."

She heard the roughened intake of air through his parted lips and soon after felt the pads of his fingers at her wrist. He trailed them slowly down her forearm, raising her flesh as he proceeded up to her shoulder. As he ran his thumb along the divot of her clavicle, she tightened her hold on his tie, his touch so fleeting, like that of a ghost, that she needed to ensure he was still with her.

"My eyes?"

Hermione shivered when his thumb moved up the swell of her neck. He pushed on the underside of her chin until she lifted her gaze to his. Her pupils nearly swallowed her irises whole as she fell from the creases in his brow down the slope of his pointed nose and off the crest of his upper lip. With the alcohol surging through her, and the headiness of a scent that was entirely Draco - whiskey, nutmeg, sandalwood - it was a struggle for her to focus. She wondered if that's what her Amortentia smelled like these days. Before she realized it, she had tugged him close enough to exchange a breath.

"Do you know what color your eyes are?" The snark in her tone brought a challenging smirk to his face.

"Hermione Granger, are you saying that you have fancied me since Hogwarts?"

Draco petted her jaw affectionately, brushing the back of his fingers against the flush of her skin.

"Don't let it go to your head," she simpered, "It's not that special if everyone wants to shag you."

He throttled a growl and lowered his lips to her ear. She tried to ignore the way his knee prodded at the seam of her thighs, urging them to part. Swaying on her heels, she let the glass flute slide out of her grip to crash on the floor and planted that now free hand flat against the wall for stability.

"Don't you think you've teased me enough tonight, Granger?" He hissed into her ear.

"Teased you?" She balked, tugging at the tie still coiled around her fist. If only she could wring his neck with it.

"I would give anything to shove that dress around your hips and rut you against this wall right now," she exhaled roughly at his blunt words, her grasp loosening ever so slightly. The heat of his breath fanning against her neck was nothing compared to what he was stoking between her legs, "I'm sure you're hiding an incredibly indecent pair of knickers under this, too. Planning for the occasion, were you?"

"Of teasing you?" She said haughtily, "Of course."

Draco pulled back with a sneer, framing her taunting face with his hands that rested on either side. Their reciprocal obstinance had once again left them at an impasse, but this time, Hermione was the one to break the thickening silence.

"How about a trade?" She raised a brow as her other hand came up off the wall to the knot of his tie. She caressed it thoughtfully.

"What are you offering?" His mouth quirked as he stared down at the seductive witch before him. That unassuming pout of her bottom lip paired with the flush in her cheeks and the gleam in her eye had his heart quickening. He thought the only way she could look more insatiably sinful was if she let that mess of a mane down. He could wind his fingers through it then, use it to control the tilt of her neck, giving him access to that pulse point that drove her crazy when he -

"My panties," Hermione bit down on her lower lip to stifle her grin.

"For?" He tried to control the throb against his zipper, but he could scarcely think with all the blood rushing between his legs.

"This," she began unwinding the simple knot and had almost slid the material from around his neck when he snatched her wrist.

"Where exactly are you going to hide that?"

Not that he was complaining, but Draco had to wonder how she would explain walking around with such a notable accessory all evening.

"I'll show you," she swatted his hand away and yanked the tie off. Hermione pushed him back and, with a salacious wink, bunched the material of her skirt in her hands. Slowly, watching as he followed her every move, she hiked her dress up until she had exposed almost her entire leg. Even in their dark corner she could see the thirst in his eyes. With an unconcealed glee, she slid his tie under her leg and wrapped it twice around her thigh before fastening it snugly.

"Granger," his eyes widened, "You naughty little - ,"

"Oh, hush," with one hand holding up her skirt, the other grabbed his wrist, guiding his fingers to her hip. She thought he might take the hint, but he instead dipped to his knees, leaving her feeling startling exposed. She hadn't realized just how much his broad frame had been covering her, protecting her should anyone walk by, "Draco, what - ,"

He cut her off with a sharp nip to her inner thigh.

"Draco, we can't," she fisted the strands of his coiffed hair, trying to push him off and pull him closer, "Not here."

"Not here," he repeated, seeming to agree with her while laving his tongue along her quivering thighs. When he reached the dampened lace covering her slick sex, she sucked in an anticipatory breath. She didn't forget where she was or who she was with, but once again, it didn't matter. All that mattered was the way Draco peered up at her through half-lidded, steely eyes, the determination and lust within them stripping her more bare than she already was. _Please._ The word danced on the tip of her tongue; she was ready to beg him for it. But she didn't beg. Hermione Granger most _certainly_ did not beg. Least of all to him. Draco slipped his hands beneath the lace of her knickers and dragged them down leisurely. He let his fingers graze the swell of her backside and the curve of her thighs, past his tie, then to the backs of her trembling knees and the slim form of her ankles.

Her chest heaved as she lifted first her right foot, allowing him to slide the lace over her heel, and then the left. With a self-satisfied smirk, he rose to his feet, admiring the skimpy cloth.

"This is hardly a fair trade," he gloated, "These are practically soiled."

Hermione huffed, cheeks flaring as she fixed her dress. The slight protrusion of his tie was hardly noticeable, but she relished in the feel of it as she rubbed her thighs together subtly. With less shame and more excitement, she felt the slight trickle of her arousal slickening her skin, no longer contained now.

"Well if you're only going to complain," she went for his hand, but he took a large step back. Smugly, he brandished the lace once more, then pocketed it within his jacket.

"I wouldn't plan on getting these back, Granger."

"I would say the same for your tie," Hermione turned on her heel and started back towards the party, "Wait a few minutes before you follow me."

"Granger," he called after her and she faltered in her steps. She let him catch up to her as the sounds of the party raged just around the corner.

"What is it?" She asked impatiently.

"You look beautiful tonight," the compliment was strained, watered down by his own frustrated desire. She hid her face, lingering for a moment, "You know, I keep waiting for you."

"Waiting for me?" Her back tensed and her neck jerked, but she forced herself to keep looking ahead.

"To walk through my door."

"Draco," she started and he advanced on her slowly, shoes tapping until he stopped barely a foot behind her.

"I've been patient, Hermione," his voice dropped, tainted by irritation, but mostly despondence at what he perceived as her indifference, "Waiting for you to come and tell me it's over."

"You know?" She turned sharply, confused and angry and hurt, "How - How do you know?"

"I overheard Potter and Weasley while we were on assignment," he pocketed his hands to keep from reaching for her, "They do like to talk."

"Oh," she bowed her head; she had wanted to be the one to tell him, to see his surprise turn to joy turn to passion.

"I'm sorry," His voice softened and he shifted on his feet, "I can't imagine what you're going through."

"Would it make you feel better if I told you it was your fault?" She laughed bitterly, looking off to the side.

"Was it?" His skin prickled as he awaited her answer.

"Partly," she lifted her eyes to his.

"I'm sorry."

"It feels like I can finally breathe again," she whispered, shaking her head, "I know that's terrible and I shouldn't feel this happy, but I do - I do. And I don't deserve it. I can't stop thinking - I can't - I should be miserable. Like him."

"He can handle himself, Granger," Draco said flippantly, "You made a difficult decision to be happy, that's not selfish."

"Thank you," she sighed heavily and nodded stiffly, "That's what my mum told me, but it's not so easy to believe."

"Of course, it's much easier to see the worst in ourselves," he stepped to the side and walked around her, back towards the party. With a hidden smirk, he said loftily, "You should wait a bit before you follow me."

"Hm," Hermione laughed softly, tossing a look over her shoulder as he sauntered away.

* * *

_It wasn't until the end of their second term, when she sat inside The Three Broomsticks on a stormy day with a handful of Gryffindors and a tray of butterbeers, that she was faced with the imminence of her departure. One of the girls had posed the question of what awaited them beyond Hogwarts. Hermione was quick to respond that she had already been in close correspondence with several departments at the Ministry about potential internships after the summer, of which was reserved for a special trip she, Ron, Harry, and Ginny would be taking abroad. That, naturally, started a conversation about everyone's destinations for the summer. Almost the entire table was embarking on a vacation with their significant other._

_Hermione's mouth was glued to the lip of her butterbeer as the questions soon turned to speculations about her and Ron._

_"It was something we explored," she cleared her throat uncomfortably, "Very briefly and it just wasn't a good fit."_

_She shuddered at the memories that surfaced in the wake of her answer, preferring to forget those awkward, tentative kisses and clumsy groping. Even though the decision to split up was amicable, she knew he still had trouble looking at her without picturing her half naked, just like she did with him. Although, she had to admit, it was getting easier, or at least it had been over the Christmas break. She was almost certain it was because she had somebody new to imagine naked._

_Her cheeks flushed, so she turned to the window, watching the heavy rain and tuning out the idle conversation around her. Things were still difficult between them. She felt guilty and uncomfortable about their last night together, so much so that she was going to absurd lengths to avoid him._

_Before the break, it wasn't so daunting to think about departing Hogwarts and, subsequently, Draco. But when she'd returned, when the anticipation of all those nights culminated upon her at once at the sight of him on the train, she felt_ afraid _. She hadn't realized it at first, she'd been too caught up in her own desire, but when she watched him leave in such haste, she felt it. It wasn't a matter of if or when, but a matter of who. Which one of them would leave the other first?_

_Her heart constricted in her chest and she swallowed a gasp, as if the wind had been syphoned from her lungs. She slammed the butterbeer down on the table and ran out of the bar, muttering a feeble excuse of how she'd forgotten to complete an assignment._

_She knew he'd stayed in the dorm that day, preferring solitude over a trip to Hogsmeade with his classmates. When she rushed, breathless, into the common area, he was sitting on the couch by the fire, Crookshanks curled beside him. He looked up at her, confused at her harried state. She swallowed harshly, gathering all her courage and desire to utter her next words,_

_"I want you to fuck me," she said, her voice wavering from the depravity falling off her tongue._

_"Granger," he gave something between a snort and a laugh, "What's gotten into you?"_

_"I want you to get me on my knees," she chewed her lip and fisted her hands tightly, "And fuck my c - ," she cursed quietly to herself, "I promised you could do whatever you wanted to me," she began to unravel the scarf at her neck, then slowly unbutton her trench coat, "You haven't done it, yet."_

_In her haste to leave the Three Broomsticks, she had neglected to throw up a charm to shield her from the rain, so one by one her wet clothes gathered on the floor by the fire place._

_Draco straightened himself on the couch, watching this private display and recalling the night she'd proposed a similar suggestion to him in nothing but a towel._ She did seem to have a flare for grand entrances _, he thought with a smirk._

_It was only when he hadn't made any movement towards her, when she was down to her bra and panties, that she stopped herself. Draco shifted in his spot, the tightness in his pants growing increasingly uncomfortable._

_"You know, it's not fair to tease, Granger," he reeled back his excitement, adopting a methodical façade; he wanted to watch her squirm. He owed her at least that much after that night with the tie._

_"I - I'm not," she murmured, crossing her arms over her chest protectively._

_"Tell me what you want me to do to you," he settled back against the couch, a lazy hand coming to rest against his cheek as he raked his eyes over her arrogantly. Hermione bristled._

_"I have told you," she said stiffly._

_"Yes, you've told me you want me to fuck you," the corners of his mouth twitched, "Now tell me where."_

_"Where else would it be?" She questioned him haughtily._

_"Aside from your_ cunt _?" He made sure to emphasize the word, watching the way it crawled under her skin with immeasurable enjoyment, "I could make use of that smart mouth of yours again, or. . ."_

_She turned as red as the throw on the couch, her composure cracking._

_"Really, Malfoy," she started to pick up her clothing, "You can be such an arse."_

_He shot to his feet and grabbed her wrist, spinning her into his chest._

_"You said whatever I want," he challenged her._

_"Whatever you want_ sexually _," she wrenched her hand free, but kept herself rooted in front of him defiantly, "Or do you get off on humiliating me?"_

_Draco's eyes widened marginally; he didn't mean to abase her. He only wanted to see that pretty blush as she gave in to his, and her, desires. But maybe they weren't her desires at all._

_"It's not humiliation," he shook his head, "Just submission."_

_"What's the difference?" She snapped, glaring up at him._

_He opened his mouth, but couldn't find the words. He didn't know how to explain it to her. It was more complicated than sexual gratification, which he supposed was her sole purpose for wanting to tie him to her bedpost._

_"It feels good to - to be in control," he said limply. Hermione barked an absurd laugh._

_"You're always in control."_

_"No," he looked taken aback as he stared at those burning brown eyes, "You are."_

_"I am?!" She balked, jabbing herself in the collarbone with a finger. She seethed, "I was at the mercy of your bullying for years. All of last year, we were at your mercy, our lives in your hands!" Her chest swelled, "I didn't think you had it in you to protect Harry. I was so sure you were going to turn us in and we would have died and it would have been your fault," she advanced on him as he started to back away from her. A tremor had started at his thumb, moving up his arm the louder her voice became, "And then you had the audacity to save us. You protected us and you let me think that we could trust you, that you weren't the selfish, depraved, Death Eater you were supposed to be."_

_"Hermione," he said softly, attempting to placate her._

_"You didn't help me!" She pointed an accusing finger at him and Draco crumbled before her. As soon as the words were spoken, they opened a fissure through the very center of his chest. A dam had been broken and the tears came. He was quiet as they rolled down his cheeks, but Hermione sobbed furiously, "You didn't help me!"_

_"I know," he stammered, forcing his eyes up to hers. There was so much anger and hurt and regret, a tempest of scorching fire that was just one word away from swallowing him whole._

_"You stood there while she tortured me," her voice was ice cold and sharp as it cut through him, "You did nothing."_

_"I know!" Draco said, more firmly this time, though he felt himself shake as she raised herself before him. A dam had broken and the truth was out._

_"You didn't do a thing, because in your eyes I have always been lower than you," she spat, wild curls falling free around her flushed face, "I have always been nothing but a filthy mudbl - ,"_

_"Stop it!" He bellowed, gathering every bit of himself to stare into her fire. His thumb tapped against his thigh, the soft thump like a taunting metronome beating to the rhythm of his agony, and it echoed in her ears. A dam had broken; this was how she saw him, this was who he was._

_"Say it."_

_"No," he shook his head adamantly._

_"Say it, Draco."_

_"Don't make me - ,"_

_"A filthy mudblood," she bit out, "You watched her torture me and you did nothing, because you are a_ coward _," Hermione set her shoulders back, straightening herself from the angry hunch she'd been in during her tirade. She clutched her clothes and stepped around him, "When have you ever not been in control of me?"_


	3. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anybody that has invested any time whatsoever into this fic, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. To those who went the extra mile to review, you have my utmost gratitude. We are now at the end of this fic, but there is still much Dramione to be written. Enjoy!

Hermione surveyed the living room of the burrow, the space alighted by floating candles and cozied couples. She lingered by the back door, watching Ginny and Harry tease each other about their sweaters, Ron and Padma steal kisses while Molly wasn't looking, and Fleur fuss over Bill's hair as they posed for a photo with the children.

There were little moments, moments like that, where she found herself to be content, mostly. Moments where she might imagine there had never been anything in her life before then. No sorrow, nor pain, nor loneliness.

No regrets.

But, he was still there, in the back of her mind and the bottom of her heart, digging an ache in her chest like a terrible craving. He slithered his way into moments like that, reminding her of what she could have and what she didn't. Her smile faltered and she dropped her gaze to the floor. She turned on her heel and walked out towards the fields. Though it had been hidden behind a tapering storm for most of the day, the sun had finally fallen, stealing with it the heavy clouds, but leaving the light of the starry sky above her.

She wondered how Draco was doing, if he had spent Christmas with his parents or if he was sitting alone in his flat with a glass of whiskey in his hand. She shivered against the cold, or perhaps it was just the thought of him alone. It wasn't pity she felt for him, but it was a familiar ache; a feeling that only they shared and, therefore, only they could understand.

The sound of merriment rose behind her as Ginny stepped outside, and then quieted once more when she shut the door.

"Hey," she approached Hermione steadily, arms folded over her chest as the wind blew around them.

"Hey," Hermione turned to face her and their matching sweaters brought a smile to her face again.

"You okay?"

"I am," she nodded as Ginny came to stand beside her, saying it more to herself than anyone else. She looked out to the horizon line, where the tips of the swaying fields melted into the inky sky above them, "It's weird not being here with Cormac. Kind of."

"Naturally," Ginny placed a sure hand on her back, rubbing it in smooth, concentric circles, "It's going to take time."

"Of course," she shook her head, "But I'm," Hermione searched for the word, her hand held up, grasping the air. Nothing felt right, it all sounded too - _abrasive_. She wasn't fine, but she also wasn't not fine. The last few years of her life felt like a dream - something she had aspired to, but failed to achieve. She was awake now and it wasn't any better, not yet, but she knew it could be. She knew - Hermione gave up with a sigh, "I think I found a new flat."

"That's great," Ginny grinned, then added teasingly, "Your parents must be so happy."

"Mum says it's like a sleepover every night," Hermione laughed and shook her head, "Really, it's just been nice to be around them again. After everything."  
"Of course," Ginny nodded, but she peered somberly at Hermione as she asked, "Have you spoken to him since?"

"No," she couldn't face Ginny then, worrying her lip between her teeth in a fruitless effort to assuage her swelling guilt, "He doesn't want to see me."

"That seems harsh," Ginny furrowed her brows and scowled, "You were doing him a favor breaking it off before you got married."

Hermione nodded as an uncomfortable itch wriggled up the back of her throat.

"It's hardly your fault if your feelings have changed," Ginny said irritably. Hermione could sense a tirade brewing in her friend and Ginny Weasley was not somebody to trifle with.

"Right," her voice grew hoarse as Ginny's grew in volume.

"Ooh, he has some nerve," she crossed her arms over her chest with a snarl, "As if you don't feel bad enough as it is, now he goes and tries to make you the bad guy! What a complete and utter - ,"

"I cheated on him," Hermione said, her voice a soft quiver in the frigid air. Ginny's eyes widened as she stared at Hermione.

"You what?"

"I cheated on him," it was even more difficult to push the words out a second time, but she had to live in this, she knew. It was the truth, and she couldn't move forward if she wasn't honest with herself. And everyone else in her life.

"You cheated on him?" She repeated slowly, her mouth dropping open as she tried to process that revelation, "What? With who?"

"Nobody," Hermione said quickly, shifting herself to look out at the fields again.

"Nobody?" Ginny stepped in front of her, confused and curious, but lacking in the abject judgement Hermione had been expecting, "Why?"

"Because I'm a terrible person, Ginny," her lip trembled with her admission. She buried her head in her hands, twisting her curls around her fingers in frustration, but Ginny reached forward, enfolding her in a tight embrace. She could scarcely begin to fathom the turmoil broiling within Hermione then, nor bring herself to comprehend the level of courage it took her to freely confess such a thing.

"You're not terrible," she rested her cheek against Hermione's shoulder, "You're the least terrible person I know. And my husband is Harry Potter, so that's saying something."

Hermione choked out a grateful laugh and dropped her hands, succumbing to the comfort of Ginny's hold.

"I feel so guilty all the time," she whispered, throat thick and words weighed heavy, "But I don't regret it. I can't bring myself to. And that makes me feel worse. Like I don't deserve to be happy. I should be miserable."

"That's not true," Ginny admonished her, "You have every right to find your own happiness," with a toss of her hand, she laughed lightly, "You may not have done it in the best way. . ."

Hermione smiled, despite her shame.

"Did he find you together?" Ginny asked, wincing at the prospect of her answer, "With the other bloke I mean?"

Hermione gave a brief shake of her head.

"I ran into him at the Ministry. We got drinks," she said slowly, reliving the course of the evening yet again, as though she hadn't agonized over every moment since then, "I followed him back to his flat - ,"

"You followed a stranger back to his flat?"

"No," she laughed softly, "Not a stranger."

Ginny nodded slowly, trying to piece together the clues to reveal the broader story that seemed to be hiding behind Hermione's timid smile.

"Well, do you like him?" she asked after they'd fallen quiet, "Do you love him?"

"Cormac?"

"No, the other one."

"I," she hid her face in Ginny's shoulder. It was out now and she couldn't keep something so significant from one of her best friends, but some things were easier to admit than others. Breathing deeply, she spoke quietly, "It's Draco."

Ginny shoved Hermione back, gripping her tightly by the arms, mouth agape as she searched her eyes, looking for some indication that what her friend had just said had been a sick joke. She found nothing but an expectant fear in Hermione's eyes.

"YOU SLEPT - ,"

"Shh!" Hermione urged her.

"You _slept_ with Draco Malfoy?!" Ginny hissed quietly. Timidly, she nodded and Ginny shook her forcefully, "When? How many times?"

"Ginny!" Hermione chastised her while trying to stifle her laughter, "Is that really all you care about?"

"Oh, all right," she sighed heavily, "Was it against your free will?"

"No! Of course not," she balked.

"Then, Hermione Jean Granger, how dare you sleep with him!" Ginny exclaimed with a stern glare, "Now, tell me, when was it and how many times did it happen?"

"You're incorrigible," Hermione yanked herself free with a laugh and swiped at the tears that had begun to dry.

"You can't expect me to let this go."

"Gin, you can't tell anyone!"

"Obviously," Ginny rolled her eyes, "I wouldn't want anybody to know I'd shagged him, either."

"It's more than that," Hermione said, wringing her hands together anxiously.

"You don't," a flicker of disgust invaded Ginny's expression before she could stop it, but she quickly corrected herself, "Do you - ,"

Hermione nodded before she could finish.

"Does he - ,"

She nodded again.

"What - how? How did this happen? When did it start?"

"At Hogwarts, when we were Head Boy and Girl."

"But, how?" Ginny flailed, stupefied by the sheer prospect of two such people stomaching their hatred enough to even speak to each other, let alone. . .

"I don't know," Hermione said, laughing when Ginny gave her a look, "Honestly! We didn't plan it, it just happened one night. He kissed me and I - I. . ."

"You what?"

"I pushed him away."

Ginny burst into a fit of giggles.

"Oh, dear. Poor, Draco. What did you do? Did you tell him off?"

"I kissed him," Hermione said with a sly smile.

Ginny swallowed thickly, pity, fascination, and confusion in her eyes.

"Hermione, I-I had no idea," she felt guilty, irrationally so, but then Hermione had clearly taken great care to conceal the whole situation from everyone, not just her.

"We agreed not to tell anybody," she said solemnly, "It was for the best."

"Then, what are you going to do?"

"Nothing, I suppose," Hermione shrugged, but there was a melancholy weight to the gesture, "I don't know."

"So, it's over?"

"No," she shook her head, "I don't think so. I hope not."

"You know what I'm going to say," Ginny sighed, shifting on her feet.

"I know," she nodded with a reserved smile when, suddenly, Ron burst through the door and out into the field.

"Oi! You're missing the pie and I'm not saving either of you a slice!"

Ginny rolled her eyes and uttered an irritated noise.

"Stopped watching your figure, eh?" She smirked and Hermione laughed as she turned to face him. He had a sour look on his face as he glared at his sister.

"Well, now you're definitely not getting any."

Ginny rolled her eyes and linked arms with Hermione.

"Come on, we'd better go; he means business."

* * *

_Draco had resolved to stay in his room that night, even as he heard her screaming herself awake. He held his wand tightly in his hand, but he didn't cast the charm. He forced himself to listen, instead, to every sickening wail that rended him in pieces. This was his punishment, the consequence of his actions and of his inactions._

_Dropping his head into his hands, he thought bitterly that Hermione didn't realize how easy she'd gotten off. If they hadn't escaped - if she hadn't gotten away - Bellatrix would have done much worse._

_And he would have been responsible._

_Draco squeezed his eyes shut, the memory of her screams reverberating throughout the cavernous Manor were almost louder than the ones across the hall. It was never easy to look upon such an unpleasant memory, but now that he - now that he felt something other than disdain for the muggle-born witch, he wished somebody would obliviate his mind. At least enough for him to forget her, to forgot the pain he'd caused her all those years._

_He knew he was cruel, he knew he was terrible, he knew he deserved every miserable thing that happened to him for the rest of his life. But she didn't._

_She didn't deserve this._

_Tossing the covers aside, he dropped his wand and ran out of his room to hers. She started when the door slammed open, her eyes wet, her body shaking, and her forearm bloodied from where she'd been scratching it. She scrambled upright and ran towards him without so much as a glance in any other direction, flinging her arms around his neck. Her lips mashed against his, hungry and desperate as she attacked him with teeth and tongue._

_He had meant to soothe her with hushed whispers and calming hands, but that wasn't what she needed. Not tonight. Just like him, she was desperate to forget - a feat not so easily managed when they kept running back to each other. Draco circled her waist, hoisting her flush to his chest. She went lax against him; as angry and hurt as she was at him and by him, she was more scared of herself in that moment._

_With urgent hands, she slipped them under his waistband and grabbed his hardening length. She stroked him roughly and he hissed against her lips._

_"I need you," she whispered, eyes fluttering closed as he kissed her again, "Draco, I need you."_

_He took hold of her wrists, prying her off his shaft, and spun her around until she was pressed to the wall. The force knocked a rush of air from her lungs. Pinning her by the hips, he untied the drawstring of his trousers and shoved them down enough to expose his cock. She tossed a look over her shoulder, the fire in her eyes burning away the tears, and pushed the waistband of her shorts down hastily. She raised herself to her toes as he bent at the knees to accommodate her height, pushing her hips back to align with his. His member slid between her thighs, rubbing against her, and then he pushed forward, sinking to the hilt with a stretch that burned. Winding an arm around her waist, he kept his other hand firm on her breast, securing her against him as he began to move furiously._

_There was no time for reverence nor acclimation. No time for methodical, torturous strokes, nor teasing foreplay. The many evenings of failed copulation since their return had caught up with them, bringing in tow the full force of their hopeless need._

_With one hand braced on the wall, she reached behind her, catching hold of his unkempt hair, and yanked him forward, forcing his lips to her neck. He obliged her wordless instruction, teeth biting at the juncture of her throat until she shook in his arms and cried out._

_Where words disserviced them, their carnal catharsis succeeded. Where they might fumble and fall over careless thoughts and spiteful feelings, they could understand each other here. They spoke each other's pain, were fluent in its language. The tightening of her hands in his hair was a command. The puncture of her skin beneath his teeth was his answer. Every snap of his hips was a challenge and every moan that passed through her lips raised the stakes. How much more could they hurt each other? How much longer could they stand it? What else could they take?_

_Sliding his hand lower, he trapped her clit between his index and middle fingers, massaging it with a tenderness that contradicted the brutal force of his thrusts. She sobbed as she felt him sucking the sore spot on her neck once more. There wasn't a single piece of her that he didn't possess in that moment, not a modicum of her pain or pleasure, torment or elation, that he hadn't bestowed on her, and she wept for it. She wept for the control he held over her, for the powerlessness she felt against him, and the absolute ecstasy he gifted her._

_Draco growled into her neck, sweat gathering between their skin as he pounded her wet cunt. He was already lost, had felt himself slipping the moment she wrapped her arms around him. What else could he do but give in to her? He didn't know how much longer they would have this, how much more he could bestow on her before he had nothing left. Or at least, nothing deserving of her._

_Raw, she cried out for him as he struck her deep. He took his hand away, ripping an emphatic protest from her throat._

_"Not yet," he groaned, "Not yet."_

_With a whimper, she nodded; she wasn't ready for it to end either. He pulled out of her and her heels lowered swiftly to the floor, legs ready to give out, but he steadied her. As she turned to face him, their eyes locked like opposing magnets snapping together. They stared at each other for a long moment, heady and panting, sweat dampening their clothes and coating their skin. She felt dizzy as she looked at him, like she'd been falling for some time, but could just see the ground now and it was coming fast, hurtling towards her quicker than she could find her footing. Before she could stop him, his thumb was on her cheek, wiping her tears away with soft, but sure strokes. She caught his wrist, meaning to stall the action, but found him warm beneath her touch._

* * *

"I must say, you are looking far better these days," Narcissa patted her lips gently with her cloth napkin, then set it beside her near empty plate.

"You're imagining things," Draco said with a simper, picking at the last remnants of his meal.

"Don't be silly," she smiled that same coy smirk he had inherited from her.

"It _is_ Christmas," he said flippantly.

"Oh, yes," she peered over the rim of her wine glass, a glint of humor in her eyes, "That must be it."

"I don't know what you're implying, but I won't stand for it," Draco frowned and looked off to his kitchen.

"Darling, don't be so sour. It'll ruin your features," she softened when he refused to face her, "I won't pry. I only want you to be happy."

"Then, I am happy," he said simply, casting a glance at her. She watched her son dubiously.

"Your father sends his regards."

"Is that it?"

"What were you expecting?"

"Nothing at all."

"He's a proud man, Draco," she straightened herself in her chair, "You must know what that's like."

His resolve cracked.

"Slighted by my own mother."

"That's hardly something to be ashamed of," Narcissa simpered. Draco flashed her a smile and she quickly sobered herself, "Your father is too proud, but you know he would apologize if you were the first one to say it."

"And why should I be?" Draco gritted his teeth, his hand tightening to a fist at his knee.

"Because you are a better man than he is," she said fiercely, "I know that, because I raised you to be better."

He swallowed harshly, gaze lowered to the fingers that clenched his thumb tightly.

"He doesn't know how to admit he's wrong, Draco, not like you," she said softly and, silenced, he slumped back in his chair, "He could learn from you, if only you had the patience to teach him."

"To not be an arse?"

"Show him some respect," she said stiffly, "He is your father after all. Do you intend to stay mad at him forever?"

"It's been working very well for me so far."

"What will you do then when you finally settle down and have children? They will have to see their grandfather sometime."

"And what if I don't?" He said quietly, ashamed to ask his mother such a question.

"Draco," she sighed heavily, her forlorn gaze steady on him, "He is not wrong to expect that of you. You are our only child and you have done well for yourself. We would hate to see you so lonely."

"I'm not lonely," he protested.  
"Then, I would like to see you in the company of a woman that is not your own mother," she softened the longer she looked at him, "It is your choice, Draco, but politics aside, it would please me greatly to see you settle down with someone."

He was silent for a pensive moment, eyes dropping to the near empty plate on the table.

"I don't want to be like him," his voice caught in his throat as a brutal scream and a savage cackle rang in his ears. He twisted the ring around his finger, "Or any of them."

Narcissa sighed heavily, her shoulders drooping and her eyes stinging. With a practiced sophistication, she righted herself immediately, a placated smile falling into place.

"Don't be," she said firmly, "Just because you grow from the same tree, that does not mean you bear the same fruit."

"Am I the fruit?"

His mother laughed softly.

"You should be proud of your heritage, darling," that placated smile faltered long enough for him to catch it, "But you don't have to live by it."

* * *

_Draco lowered his hands when she released him, curling his fingers beneath the hem of his shirt and yanking it over his head. He watched her expectantly, waiting for her to do the same, but she could only stare at him, stricken, as he stepped out of his trousers. He came closer, hands slipping beneath her top and glancing across her stomach. Her breath caught, abdomen tightening away from his touch, but he kept moving. Shutting her eyes, she relented long enough for him to pull her shirt off, whereupon she felt the hot, hard length of him, still coated with her own arousal, hit her stomach. Biting her lip, she forced her gaze to him once more._

_The usual regard of unfiltered, primal lust in his eyes had softened, but his intent had not waned. Hooking his fingers at the sides of her knickers, he pulled them down swiftly and they fell to her ankles. When she didn't move, he took her hand, guiding her to step out of them and into his arms. Speechless, bewildered, and with a passion that raged, Hermione could only stare up at him with an awe she had yet to comprehend. Something had pulled her back to him. Something had made a place within her for him. Something had wound its way into her very being, incepting its seeds of trust, desire, and -_

_Draco walked them back to the bed, keeping a hold on her hand even as he moved to sit down. She let him pull her atop him, let him situate her, legs splayed over his, let him guide his cock to her entrance and push her down, evoking a moan from her lips that broke her reverie. She braced herself on his shoulders as he leaned against the headboard gazing up at her as she took him fully. The black of his eyes swallowed the churning gray and a small, almost imperceptible sound left her at the sight._

_He brought his hands down her back, thumbs following the arch of her spine as he urged her closer. She felt the intake of his breath beneath her fingers and she shifted on her knees, sliding against his cock. Another heavy breath from him and then his hands came around her front, slipping down her arms until he met the fresh scratches that marred her skin. His eyes dropped then, quick and brief, before snapping back to her, like he couldn't bear to look. Whether it was guilt, a feeling of culpability for her suffering, or something else she couldn't quite comprehend, his orbs had widened and his mouth had dropped open to speak her name,_

_"Hermione," he began softly, but she shook her head. Locking her fingers behind his neck, she lifted her hips and sank to the base of him. The focus of his gaze didn't falter, even as a low groan emanated from his chest. Before he could open his mouth again, she rocked against him, building to a quick and merciless pace that had him clutching her hips for stability. He grit his jaw as her arse smacked down in his lap faster than he could draw in breath, but still he managed to hiss out, "Fuck - wai - just wa - fu - Hermio - ,"_

_She slapped a hand over his mouth, twisting her other fingers through his hair until she had bent his neck at an arch._

_"Don't," she eked out, voice needy and breathless, "Don't - speak."_

_She couldn't see his lips, but she felt the corners turn down against her palm in time with the narrowing of his gaze. If only she didn't have to look into his eyes._

_When her hand remained, he lifted his arm and grabbed her wrist. Her hips quickened and he swore the tightening of her walls around him was on purpose. Either way, it was a good distraction. Grunting roughly, he lifted his hips and fucked into her, matching her thrust for thrust as she secured her grip on his hair and he kept a stringent hold on her slight wrist. Every sound out of his mouth was muffled by her hand or drowned out by her moans, but she knew what he was feeling, could see it in the silver of his eyes._

_There was so much she still had to learn about him, so much she didn't know, but she could see it. All of it. Bared before them, circling around them, burgeoning between them; it swelled and coalesced, cresting like the peak of an orgasm, but falling just short of crashing over them. Furiously, she rode him, arcing forward and crying out, bouncing in his lap as she chased her pleasure. He mumbled against her hand, eyes hypnotic as she stared into them._

_Hermione bit her lip, grinding harder, moving faster. A feeling of hypersensitivity lit her nerves aflame, every inch of him stroking within her, reaching deeper, carving her out from the inside. He mumbled again, pulling at her wrist; she started to budge. A sharp upward thrust of his hips had him striking the edge of her cervix and he felt her shudder against him. Faltering in her pace, she slumped forward, resting her head in the crook of his neck. He ripped her hand away, growling in her ear as he encouraged her hips onward._

_"Come for me, Hermione," she whimpered against him in response, "I want to feel you come on my cock," she cried out, matching his thrusts, "I've got you," she rubbed the base of his neck as she clenched around him, "I've got you, Hermione," his gravelly voice was slipping beneath her skin, burrowing in that place that_ something _had made its home, "Come for me."_

_"Draco," tears crept along her eyelids as her heart constricted in her chest, "Draco, I - I can't," it twisted like the turn of a key, tightening. His grip bruised, "Draco!" The sloppy sounds of their sex reverberated. Tightening, "I can't!" He slammed her down in his lap, a painful assault of his cock. Tightening, "I - I - ," and then it snapped._

_Hermione screamed into his neck, an agonized cry of pain and passion, of desolation and ecstasy. She screamed for the throbbing ache of her forearm, for the anguish tearing her heart apart, for the orgasm rushing through her. She screamed for the pleasure he gave her and for the suffering he caused her. Her walls convulsed around his shaft, drawing his climax up to the tip and ripping it out of him._

_"Fuck, that's it," he kissed her ear, her jaw, her neck, supporting her as she trembled and slackened in his arms. His grip was bruising and her heart was breaking, her breaths shallow and his chest heaving, but he fucked into her like a man consumed._

_And he was; consumed by his own desires, consumed by his own pain, consumed by his own need. He was consumed - and lost. Draco gave a deep, sharp thrust and held her there, groaning into her neck as he released inside of her. His hips rocked unsteadily, jerking with every spurt of his cock, as he breathed heavily against her skin._

_His mind had been silenced, but she had finally hit the ground and it was no more forgiving than the fall itself._

* * *

**ONE MONTH LATER**

**HERO OR HEARTBREAKER?**

**Men and women around the world wept when news broke that everyone's favorite Quidditch captain was officially spoken for. Now, hardly a few months since their engagement was announced, Hermione Jean Granger and Cormac McGlaggen have suddenly called it quits. If it seems a surprise to you, that's because it is! When asked, a source close to the former couple said, "It came as a complete shock to us. They always looked so happy together. I can only imagine how he's [Cormac] handling it all, what with this being their second breakup." So what _did_ trigger the on-again, off-again couple's split this time? Rumor has it -**

Hermione set the Prophet down on the bar before her. She sipped on her glass of whiskey, nursing it slowly, as the one beside her remained untouched, and she listened for the clank of the door. Nearly half an hour passed before he finally arrived, sliding into the seat next to her without invitation.

"Blimey, Granger, this going to be a regular thing with you?"

"Not if you keep me waiting this long," she chided him.

"Believe me, if I'd known you were here, I would have told Potter to bugger off sooner," Draco smirked and picked up the spare whiskey.

"He told me the case is going well with your help."

"Shouldn't be much longer now we know who we're looking for," he drank idly, his interest in it waning already. She could see in the set of his shoulders and the bright of his eyes how much happier he appeared to be. She tried to keep herself from thinking why that was, lest she become happier, too.

"What will you do when it's over?"

"Move on to the next one," he said matter-of-factly, "Got an owl from a bloke in Brasov, says he had a cursed spyglass that went missing."

"You're going to turn it into the authorities if you find it, aren't you?" She asked sternly.

"That's not what they pay me for," his lips curled upward, "Most people keep these things for sentimental value, a reminder of the old days. Or because it's been in their family for generations."

"The Ministry doesn't know that part do they?"

"I'm sure somebody suspects something."

She scrutinized him for longer than a moment, brows scrunched as she asked,

"Why don't you become an Auror?"

"They wouldn't have me, Granger," he chuckled at her suggestion, waving it off with his hand.

"They would," she protested, "If Harry vouched for you."

"And why would Potter do that?" Draco raised a brow.

"He knows you've changed. He told me so," came her haughty response.

"Oh, so you talk about me?" He pressed, the corners of his lips turning up.

"Not if I can help it," she said blithely, "Last thing you need is somebody to stroke that already enormous ego of yours."

Draco placed his hand over hers, his silver gaze boring into those wide brown orbs. The innuendo was there without being spoken. A simple cock of his brow and tug of his lips had her stifling a laugh. She turned her palm up under his, glancing her fingers at his wrist, slipping beneath the sleeve of his suit coat. He leaned forward, but stopped short of coming all the way. Waiting for her, his heart quickened as their eyes locked. Her mouth parted, ready to meet him, but she faltered. Instead, she turned somber, tugging at her bottom lip with her teeth.

"Will you really go to Brasov?"

"It's not the furthest I've been," he shifted slightly, pulling himself back, and thumbed the heel of her hand. There was no humor in his voice as he repeated her own words, "I don't belong here, Granger."

Hermione swallowed thickly and squeezed his wrist. She blinked a few times, rapidly as though she were trying to keep tears out of her eyes.

"You could," the oddest lilt of his mouth pulled her attention there. She thought about kissing him again, about grabbing him by his lapels and searing her lips against his, but before she lost herself, she said, "I'm up for a promotion."

"Congratulations," he smiled at her, stroking his fingers against the heel of her hand, but she could make out the note of disappointment in his tone. He had been thinking about it, too.

"It's big," she said quietly, afraid that if she gave it too much voice, she might curse herself. His thumb rested against the thrumming pulse at her wrist and he watched her for a long breath before he spoke,

"Let me take you to dinner."

"What for?" She returned her gaze to him.

"For dinner."

"In public?" She blurted out before she could stop herself.

"Well, I'm not much of a cook."

"When?"

"Whenever you want."

"Can I pick the restaurant?"

"No," Draco said swiftly, "You'll take me somewhere I've got to eat the food with my fingers and I'll ruin a perfectly good suit."

"Then don't wear a suit," she said pointedly, "I'd rather like seeing how you'd look dressed as a commoner."

"Charming, as always," his eyes slipped down to her neck, the curve of which was just visible through the mass of her hair. She inhaled sharply, perceiving the lasciviousness of his gaze, and he could see a prominent blush blooming on her cheeks, "Dinner, then?"

"Yes, dinner," with a smile - a soft, genuine upturn of her lips - she pulled her hand back and stood from the chair, "But I'll cook. You can bring a bottle over to my new flat. How about tomorrow night?"

Draco nodded, a constrained smile on his face as she hesitated to leave. She turned, stopped, then spun back around. Clasping a hand on his cheek, she brought her lips to his. He could feel her fingers trembling against his skin, but as soon as he reached up to touch her, she had pulled away. They shared a breath, a look, a cautious grin, both knowing that it wasn't enough, but enough wasn't possible. At least not there. Wordlessly, she spun on her heel and headed for the door. Dutifully, he watched her go, but as soon as she started off down the street, his eyes dropped to the paper she'd left behind.

* * *

For him _, he had asked her - no, commanded her. He had told her to come for him, like it belonged to him, like her orgasm was something he could take. Like_ she _belonged to him._

_Or maybe, he just wanted it as badly as she did, as badly as she wanted him._

_Draco's fingers skimmed the surface of her lower back, working in soft, narrow circles as their labored breaths evened. She couldn't tell him how much she missed him, how desperate she was to sleep, just_ sleep _, beside him again, but she wondered if he even noticed. She wondered if he reached over in the middle of the night when he was restless, groping the sheets in his search for her. Like she did._

 _They could continue to meet in the common area in the middle of the night and talk idly as they completed their rounds, but she felt herself starting to retreat - even as they slept across the hall from each other - pulling back from any hope or pursuance of his attention. It would be better, she had told herself, if she wasn't set up for disappointment. Because he_ would _disappoint her. She was sure of it. It wasn't a matter of how or why or even with what. It was only when. When would he let her down again? When would he go back to being who he always was? When would he tire of rushing to her side? When would enough be enough?_

_But then he had asked her to come for him. He had asked her to give him another piece of her._

_And she did. . ._

_"I need to go," Hermione scrambled off of his lap, dislodging from him as though he'd hurt her._

_"Wait," he grabbed her wrist and she spun to face him with a wince. He released her immediately; there was a palpable fear in her eyes, a stringent terror that gripped her as she looked at him. Draco swallowed thickly and asked, "Where are you going?"_

_She blinked rapidly._

_"I-I don't know, I just - I-I can't," she stammered, clinging to the space he had grabbed her. The scratches on her forearm stung, but the remnants of his touch burned more._ I can't be around you, I don't want to be near you, _she wanted to say. Casting her eyes down, she spoke quietly, "I think I need a bath."_

_Hermione bolted before he could say anything, running starkly naked and profusely sweaty down the stairs and through their common area to the bathroom. She paced as she waited for the tub to fill, then sank into the warm water, her chest heaving with rapid breaths. Clutching a hand over her swiftly beating heart, she tipped her head back and closed her eyes._

I've got you. I've got you, Hermione.

 _She bit her lip as a wretched sound sat in her throat, a soured taste resting on her tongue._ It's just sex, _she had told herself._

I can give you more than that, Granger.

_Like what? Tea in the early hours? A kiss in the rain? Arms to run to? Eyes to strip her bare? A wit that rivaled hers? Lips that taunted and challenged and soothed?_

_She sank into the water, the pain of her arm an incessant throb. She had dreamt of Bellatrix again, of his aunt. With her cackle still ringing in her ears and the foul stench of her breath permeating her nostrils, all she could think about was him. All she could think was that he'd come for her, that he'd save her this time, that he'd take the pain away._

_And he did. He came bursting through the door like a beacon cutting through the fog. He'd taken her in his arms, soothed the ache that his family had created and replaced it with a pleasure she'd never believed she could have._

_Before their time together, she wouldn't have considered this to be a threat, not even in the most perverse and neglected corners of her mind. But then, there, in that moment, she realized that it was what she had always feared. He'd never told her that she was clever or pretty or worthy. She knew she didn't need those things from him - the validation of a Death Eater._

_But now she wanted them. She wanted to hear him say that she meant something, that the conversations before the fire and the kisses in the rain and the afterglows by the window_ meant something _._

_There was an ache in her heart and a desire in her body, she realized, but they could not exist together. She could not reconcile the two, because she could either want him, fuck him, loathe him, pity him. . ._

We don't hate each other. We're meant to, Granger, but we don't.

_. . .Or she could love him._

I need you. I need you.

_But she couldn't do both._

* * *

_Draco sat before the fire, fingering the strap of her beaded bag. Hermione swallowed thickly as she entered the common area, hands clutched at the knot of her towel._

_"Why do you have that?"_

_He looked up startled and released the strap._

_"What is it?"_

_"Did you take that from my room?"_

_"It wasn't like you were hiding it," he sneered at her accusation, "You had it sat on your dresser."_

_He saw the twitch in her brow and the turn of her lips, so he pressed on,_

_"Why is it charmed?"_

_"To keep nosy arses like you out," she snapped, but her mind was reeling as she took him in. Was his hair silkier? Were his eyes sharper? Did he just smile at her? She averted her gaze._

_"What are you hiding, Granger?"_

Everything.

_"Nothing," she insisted. Her cheeks burned and her heart pined, but she still couldn't face him. He was silent long enough for her to wonder what he was thinking, but she regretted it as soon as he opened his mouth._

_"I recognized it," his voice was dark and quiet, "You had this the day you were brought to the Manor," then he added hastily, "And I've seen you pull this out some nights here."_

_"How - How do you remember that?" Her eyes moved back to his._

_"I remember what you were wearing," he cleared his throat, "All of you. Can't forget it," Draco turned back to the fire, but Hermione approached him steadily, "Can't forget anything."_

_She shifted on her feet stiffly._

_"I can hardly remember a thing," she swallowed thickly, "Just the pain, mostly. And bits of her voice. Sometimes I can't even remember the nightmares."_

_But she could remember him and the look in his eyes said he knew as much without her having to say it. Ducking her head, she knelt beside him and grabbed the bag._

_"This," she started rummaging through the mouth of it, pulling up handfuls of potions, spare clothing, herbs, galleons and pounds, "Was the only thing I had with us last year," Draco's eyes widened with every item she produced. He didn't remark on her ingenious use of charms then, it didn't seem appropriate, but once again, she had impressed him with the extent of her magical talents and impeccable foresight, "We didn't know when we would be able to sleep or eat or - or if we were going to make it through the day."_

_Draco looked away from her. Before him sat the embodiment of every wrong he'd ever committed in his life, every crime he'd never been convicted of, every mistake that would haunt him as long as he lived. His fingers curled around his thumb._

_"If things had been different," he began, voice quieted by shame and regret._

_"But they weren't," she said sharply, noticing for the first time that night how hoarse her throat was. As she fixed him under her unforgiving gaze, he refused to face her._

_"If they had been, I would have - ,"_

_"They weren't!" Hermione snapped, incensed by his obstinate insistence, "They won't ever be."_

_"I would have stopped her," he objected._

_"You had your chance," she said coldly, "And you didn't. The only reason you care now is because you have to face what you've done. You can't run away from me," her words were spiteful, but she wasn't sure if she was angry at him or herself, "You have to wake up every morning and see me," her eyes narrowed and her voice dropped to a deadly timbre, "That must be terrible for you."_

_"That's not what I meant," he grit his teeth, "If I had kn - ,"_

_"What difference would it have made if we'd had sex before that night? Hm?" She demanded, "You think because you took my virginity that you owe me something? You destroyed my life long before that, Draco."_

_Finally he looked at her, noting the redness around her deep brown orbs, the tears clinging to her lashes, and her chest that heaved against the flimsy knot of her towel. He struggled with the words, but gave up. His head dropped into his hands, thumb twitching against his ear; no amount of apologies or gestures or meaningless words would be sufficient. The futility of his remorse sent him reeling. He had always carried guilt, because he had always known, somewhere, somehow, that what he was doing was wrong. But over the years it became more difficult to ignore. It was a palpable thing that sat on his chest, fettering his heart._

_"I'm sorry," he said limply, but he knew that didn't mean anything, not to her. She stared at him, baffled and alarmed, as she clenched her fists._

_"Don't insult me, Draco," she hissed through her teeth, gathering her supplies and bag, then left him by the fire, alone once more._

* * *

Hermione's heart fluttered as Draco watched her from his position against her kitchen counter. His eyes were attentive on every movement she made, not scrutinizing, but admiring.

"I know I said I was useless, but I _can_ help," he offered.

"It's alright," she shook her head, glancing up at him briefly. Her teeth tugged at her bottom lip to cut off the smile threatening to break free, "I said I'd cook."

She returned her attention to the chicken she'd just pulled from the oven, cheeks burning under his stare. The stringent anxiety that normally tempered their time together - the urgency of passion and the threat of an imminent conclusion to their narrative - was now absent. In its place was a startling calm, an ease of familiarity, and without the necessity or motive to flee his presence, she found herself at a loss for what to do or say.

What should they talk about now that every profession of love or utterance of desire wasn't just another stolen moment to tide them over until the next? Was it okay to touch him without purpose, without fear that it might be the last time she ever felt his hand in hers?

"You're not using magic?"

"That would be cheating," she simpered, "I said I'd cook and I meant it. I made everything from scratch."

He chuckled softly at her response and she relished in the sound. Her eyes travelled back to him, taking in the comfort of his posture. He had loosened his tie, unbuttoned the top of his shirt, and cuffed the sleeves at his elbows, exposing the length of his faded mark. The joy of such a sight assaulted her heart with merciless intent and she found herself taking pause to approach him. She pushed onto her toes and pressed her lips to his chastely, but before she could pull back this time, he caught her at the waist and kept her close, deepening the kiss. Heat swirled in her stomach as his fingers spread across her lower back, drawing her flush against him. Hermione relaxed in his arms as their lips moved over each other slowly, savoring every clash of tongues and graze of teeth. She reached her hand up to the coif of his hair, tussling it as she tangled the strands around her fingers, just as the kitchen timer gave a shrill chime.

She ducked her head, panting softly and concealing a foolish grin when they broke apart. Forcing herself back to the task at hand, she silenced the timer.

"Tell me about Brasov," she said, taking up a carving knife.

"I'll be leaving next month," he shrugged, shifting on his feet, "They're putting me up in some inn by the mountains. I suspect it won't be a long trip - something like that goes missing, it's usually one of the family members."

"And then you'll come back to London?"

"Maybe," he furrowed his brows at her, but she busied herself with plating their dinner, "Or move on to the next thing."

She nodded, silent and pensive. He sensed the change in the air, but he needed her to tell him what she wanted. He needed her to tell him that she wanted him. His voice was soft as he spoke,

"It's what I do, Granger."

She nodded, but still wouldn't look up. Someway, somehow, he had found solace in his career; perhaps it was his attempt at atonement. She realized that she might not understand it entirely, but she could at least appreciate it.

"Will you come and see me then?" She poured the roasted vegetables beside their slices of chicken, "When you get back?"

Of course he would. He would come to her first. Before he even stopped home to drop off his trunk or launder his clothes, he would come to her. After a tiresome trip abroad, after however many weeks of traveling, he'd come to her. It would be late in the evening, perhaps early morning, when he'd apparate into her flat. He'd leave his shoes in the entryway beside his suitcase, stepping lightly down the hall to her bedroom. She'd leave the door open, because she'd be expecting him, but she wouldn't stir, even as the floorboards creaked beneath his feet. As quiet as he could, he'd discard his tie and shuck off his suit coat. He'd listen to the steady rhythm of her breath as he undid every button of his shirt. When he changed into his pyjamas, the spare set he kept in her dresser, he'd slide into bed next to her. Not quite awake, but somehow aware of his presence, she'd turn about, reaching for him.

And he'd reach back.

"Yeah," he said quietly, "Of course."

* * *

_She didn't know when it had happened, couldn't pinpoint the moment, but the damage was done. After so many months adrift, she felt like she'd finally found the shore, but she'd surfaced on a foreign land. These were not the same sands she'd traversed before. She was on an island, stranded by reason and abandoned by morality._

_Not even_ he _was there to keep her company._

_But he was there in the mornings. He was there in the Great Hall at every breakfast. He was there in every class they shared. He was there in the common room every time they had homework. He was there in the evenings when they patrolled the grounds. He was there in her arms every time they gave in to passionate desperation. And he was there every night, every time she woke, every time she screamed, every time she cried. He was there._

_And it was suffocating._

_She started writing to Harry and Ron again, every letter feeling like a frantic breach for air. In those instances, when she could bury herself in the solace of their words, she became a different person. She became Hermione Granger again, one third of the Golden Trio, the brightest witch of her age. She became a hero, a survivor of the Second Wizarding War. No longer was she the girl that pined after a Death Eater. She was not the girl that felt empathy, compassion, and desire for the boy that had tormented her for years. She was not the girl that fell in_ love _with Draco Malfoy. Because how could she be?_

_How could she hold anything other than contempt for such a person? How could she stomach his touch, let alone crave it? How could she justify his remorse when she should be relishing in his guilt?_

_When she wasn't around him, it was easier to pretend that part of her didn't exist. It was easier to ignore the shame that clung to her like the stench of rot to a carcass. But while the months continued on and another term ended, they still had made no move to sever the ties of their involvement. The longer they left it, she knew the harder it would be. Instead of a clean cut, it would be an agonizing tear, like a delicate fabric worn by age. She would be left dangling from its entwined threads as they slowly unraveled, holding on until a force more powerful than the inexplicable passion she felt for him tore her away._

_Deep down, she knew that he would be that force. He would be the one to tear them apart. It had to be him._

_And it would break her heart._

_Hermione twisted in Draco's arms, prying herself free as his fingers twitched against her elbow while he stirred in his sleep. She scooted silently to the edge of his bed and stepped lightly out of his room. The anxiety brought on by this newfound realization became an asphyxiation of her reason. Every day it was a new battle to be around him, but an even harder one to pull away._

_She stepped towards the hearth and lit the fire before settling herself on the couch, pulling the throw over her body. How could she hope to free herself from him, when she couldn't even escape her memories of him? There wasn't one corner of the dormitory that didn't echo the cadence of their affair. There wasn't a single hall in all of the castle that she didn't see him in. There wasn't a moment that went by when she wasn't thinking of him._

_So, how could she ever hope to leave him?_

* * *

Their dinner was more lively than any Draco could remember having in recent years. Laughter filtered through Hermione's modest flat, accompanied by the scrape of cutlery and clinking of glasses. They spoke of Hogwarts and the Ministry, of his travels abroad and her impending promotion, of things past and present. Though it was there, every moment of tension or inkling of fear, every ounce of pain or crippling sorrow, every unsaid word or bitter outburst, they did not award it their attention. It was quietly acknowledged, but easily dismissed. There was no place for it, because they had left nothing between them and neither had any intention of letting the other go that night.

With his hands sliding up her thighs, across her back, down her arms, fingers lacing with hers, he slipped inside of her. With her legs hitched at his waist, teeth digging into his shoulder, tongue tracing the mark she'd made, he filled her. With familiarity and comfort, hope and desire, need and impatience, they came together without hinderance or remorse, without fear of consequence or trepidation of discovery.

For the first time, they made love.

It was no less destructive and encompassing than any other seduction they had succumbed to, but it was slow and languid. Its purpose was not harm or haste, but indulgence and discovery. He whispered to her, sharing secrets he'd kept for the last ten years and she took every word, greedy and ravenous for his affections. They tumbled together, sweat soaked and hopeless, starved and sated all at once.

She cried his name at the top of her lungs and not a single shred of guilt sullied her pleasure as each syllable crossed her lips. He bruised her skin with his rough hold, commemorating their reunion, and the voice that once taunted him that his hands were not the ones to keep her was now silenced. She rode him with a ferocity that rivaled the desperation they'd been trapped with for so long and he fucked her with a devotion that challenged every lonely night spent without the other.

She managed a smile and pulled his lips down to hers. He responded with fervor, clenched fists twisting the sheets beside her hair. Raking her hands across his back, she urged him closer, basking in the intimacy of his weight upon her. She knew the planes of his chest and the feel of his arms. She knew the cut of his jaw and the sharpness of his gaze. She knew the tenderness of his affection and the forcefulness of his desire. She knew it all.

But she didn't know his love.

And she wanted to.

They parted for a desperate breath, foreheads touching, noses brushing. He reached behind him for her hands, pinning them above her head as he laced their fingers together once more. With her ankles locked at his waist, they began anew. Her throat was raw and his words were broken, her limbs shook and his heart quickened, but they'd never known a greater peace. As her lashes fluttered open, she saw his mercurial gaze, open and attentive to her, and it promised her everything. Whatever she wanted from him, it was hers. It had been hers, at least for the last ten years.

But it had taken her that long to realize that giving in to him was not giving up.

* * *

_Draco woke her with a violent yell. Her eyes shot open and a terrible bang sounded from his room. She jumped to her feet and started for the stairs as a deafening crash rang through the hall._

_"Draco!" She ran into his room and was stopped dead in her tracks. His arm was outstretched, wand clutched tightly in his bloodied hand, thumb trembling uncontrollably, and cold gray eyes fixed on a point just past her. The bed was in disarray, the dresser by the wall ripped apart, its drawers broken, and the drapes shredded. A storm of fury, terror, and regret had decimated the space around him, because she hadn't been there to stop it. Hermione stepped forward on her toes, navigating the splintered wood and torn clothing littering his floor. She reached for him, extended fingers closing around the fist that clenched his wand. His brows rose when he felt her and he sucked in a gasping breath. His thumb steadied. She whispered softly, "Draco, it's only me."_

_He swallowed harshly and she felt his grip slacken._

_"It's alright," she stepped closer, craning her neck to look up at him. He lowered his eyes to her finally, and the comfort of recognition cleared the fog that had gathered there._

_"Don't leave," he said through gritted teeth._

_"No," guilt coiled tightly around her heart, as though she were responsible for such desolation, "I'm here."_

_Her gaze left his briefly to look around the room and she spotted her wand amidst the twisted sheets. She turned her attention back to him and raised a hand to his face, flattening her palm against his cheek. He leaned into the touch, shutting his eyes to the destruction around him, and the tears came. Hermione watched each one fall, observing the trails they left and the convergences they made, until she felt them collide with her hand with a sharp sting. She pushed herself up to wrap her arms around his neck and his head fell forward into her shoulder. His wand dropped to the floor with a clatter and he encircled her in a tense hold. Even as he shook against her, his sobs filling her ears, she felt the security of his grasp on her._

_It seemed so easy to take him in her arms and for her to fall into his. When had it become second nature to seek him out, to take shelter in the haven of his presence? Her lips twitched against his shirt as the question sat on her tongue. What was this? What were they doing?_

_"Draco, I - ,"_

_"Don't leave," he whispered, voice thickened by terror and sorrow. Hermione stiffened, blinking back tears of her own, then exhaled slowly. She clung to him tighter._

_"No," she stroked the back of his neck, running her fingers through his hair and up to the shell of his ear, "Let's get you back to bed."_

_Gingerly, she untangled herself from him and cupped his chin to raise his reddened eyes to hers. Their gazes locked and she pushed forward, stalling the tremor in his lips with hers. He lifted her closer, tilting his head to shut out what little distance had still been between them. She was burning against him, for him, the fire so often seen in her eyes now finally bared to his skin. And then she pulled away, slipping from his arms until only their fingers touched, but then she took that with her, too._

_"Go to my room," she said quietly as she bent to retrieve her wand. He hesitated as she kept her back to him, so she turned her head slightly, "I'll be in shortly."_

_He faltered still, but with a last look at her, he closed the door behind him and traveled across the hall._

_Hermione faced the carnage around her and recited a mending charm. The bed reassembled itself, righting its sheets and returning the pillows atop it. The dresser reversed to its original state, housing the clothing that had previously been on the floor. All around her, the room reverted to its natural order, but she still stood in the middle of it, lost as ever._

_As she turned on her heel, she spotted his wand by the foot of the bed. With a hasty glance to the door, she picked it up and whispered,_

_"Prior Incantato."_

_Jets of black smoke slithered from the tip of Draco's wand, winding around each other until they constricted and bloomed into the image of a skull. Tears pricked her eyes and her hands shook as she watched the plume of a snake twist itself around, sliding through the skeletal mouth, and come to greet her face to face. She stared at it for longer than she should have, as though it might reveal something within itself in time. But it only observed her, unblinking and taunting, suspended in the air above._

_"Deletrius," she hissed bitterly and watched it evaporate until not a single fragment of it lingered, except for the crippling torment fracturing her heart. Wiping frantically at her tears, she collected herself and left his pristine room. When she entered hers, he was sitting atop the sheets, eyes cast forward. Their gazes locked and she froze in the doorway. She knew, and he knew that she knew. There was no coming back from that._

_They couldn't count the number of times they'd had to pull the other back from the edge of their nightmares or the number of times they'd held each other as they cried over the past or the number of times they'd sat in reverent silence just for the company of recognition; it wasn't the first time she'd had to pick up the pieces for him._

_But this was different. His knuckles were bloody, his eyes were feral, his thumb was twitching to a discordant beat -_

_And she felt herself crumbling the longer she looked at him._

_What were they doing? What was the point of it all?_

_He moved to stand and she shook her head._

_"Don't," she warned him, throat tightening around the word._

_"It's not what you think," he said earnestly._

_"Don't!" she snapped, the dam of her resolve fissuring. She didn't know whether to run away or into his arms. She didn't know whether to scream at him or cry for him. She didn't know whether to report him or comfort him. He must have been so scared, so terrified to have lost himself so completely, even for just a moment, but long enough that that piece of him was able to break free. He must have been so trapped in his memories that the only way out was through. Hermione sank to the floor, her head falling into her hands; they all felt like flimsy justifications, like poorly surmised notions conjured simply to make herself feel better, to give her an excuse to go to him._

_But if she didn't, then who would?_

_"Hermione," her name was strained as it left his lips, desperate and entreating. A long pause ensued, the silence thickening to the point she thought she might shriek just for the solace of the noise. Then, he spoke - a soft and piteous petition to her, "I need you."_

* * *

His eyes snapped open as soon as she stirred and the arm beneath her curled around her, protective against what he knew was coming. She yelled as she shot upright, startling herself awake and pulling him with her.

"Hermione," he said fiercely, clasping his hands at her clammy cheeks, turning her errant eyes on him, "Look at me, look at me."

"I - I," she stuttered, rigid fingers clenched around her sheets.

"You're home," her gaze wandered, but he forced her back, "Look at me. You're home."

"No, I was - I-I saw him - I saw him standing th - ," she took a deep, rattling breath, her eyes finally settling on his.

"I've got you," his thumb stroked her cheek as she nodded.

"I'm sorry, Draco," she sobbed, throwing her arms around him, "I'm so sorry. I didn't want this to happen tonight," her tears crested her lashes and spilled down her cheeks, "Not tonight."

He slipped his arms beneath her and scooped her into his lap, cradling her against him as she turned into his chest. He didn't want to say it, but he was glad - he was so glad. He didn't care when it happened, just as long as he was there for it, to comfort and catch her when she fell, to follow her into the darkness.

"I've got you," he repeated, burying his face in her neck. Her fingers dug into his shoulders and she nodded again. Her tears were wetting his shirt, but all he felt was relief. There was gratitude in the sensation of an act not experienced in some time. He could relish now not in her pain, but in his ability to take it away from her. She, too, seemed to appreciate the novelty of it all again, because she spoke quietly to say,

"You're here now," there was a sense of wonder and excitement in her voice. She could have cried for the relief she felt or shouted her elation to the world, but even words failed her in that moment. Cormac had never understood the extent of her suffering and, while it was by no means his fault, she could never help the biting resentment she held for him because of it. It was not so much for his inability to comprehend how deeply her scars ran, but rather his lack of scars to begin with. He had seen the dark, perhaps touched it even, but he had not lived in it. Hermione burrowed into his chest, her confession muffled by his shirt, "I missed you."

She felt him tense against her.

Draco couldn't help the feeling of guilt and jealousy that invaded his heart in that moment. He felt beholden to a sense of duty that he had failed and yet, also tormented by his inability to fulfill that duty by circumstances outside of his control. _But, it didn't matter now_ , he reminded himself.

"Careful, Granger," he said, his voice uneasy even as he held her steady.

"Hm," she laughed lightly and lifted her mouth to his neck, pressing a kiss to his pulse. His throat was tight and his heart hammered in his chest. He had no doubt she could feel it with how tightly she was pressed against him, but the strength of his past regrets outweighed the fear of her possible rejection.

"I don't want you to leave this time," he admitted.

Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever. Not again.

Hermione lifted her head slowly. She waited for him to meet her gaze before she spoke,

"It's my flat."

"You know what I mean," he scowled.

"Yes," she agreed, containing her smile. The words she wished to impart on him, about what the morning would bring, about the future, about them, died before they left her lips. She knew he was a part of her life now, in some manner or capacity, that he would remain that way, but she didn't know how, not yet. They would have to figure that out, sometime, someday, but not now.

For now, the moment belonged to them.

* * *

Three days had passed and that wide smile had made a home on her face. Though he had been busy wrapping up the case with Harry and Ron, he promised to see her that night and it had her positively giddy with anticipation. It might not have been the most conventional of circumstances, but then, nothing about them was conventional. And she was okay with that.

As she rounded the fountain in the lobby of the Ministry, a tall, thin man in a tweed jacket and starkly colored trousers descended upon her, a notepad and quill in hand.

"Hermione Granger," he stated matter-of-factly, "Thomas Ashley."

"I'm sorry, I don't think I - ," she shook her head, confused.

"Columnist for the Daily Prophet."

"Oh," she straightened herself, "I see," bracing against whatever silly questions he'd come to berate her with, she maintained a pleasant smile as she asked, "How can I help you?"

"I'm writing an article for the front page of Sunday's paper - ,"

"I thought you said you were a columnist."

"Yes," he bared a grin at her snark, "With any luck, this will put me on the map. As I was saying, this will be for the front page of Sunday's paper; would you like to comment on your recent split from Cormac McGlaggen?"

With a polite shake of her head and a stern frown, she looked pointedly at Thomas.

"No."

"A source informed us that your estrangement was the result of his rumored involvement with his Quidditch coach, Imelda Bailey. Is that true?"

"I haven't the slightest idea," she said dismissively.

"Then you did not have knowledge of their supposed involvement?" He scribbled on his notepad, "Are you aware they were seen together over the weekend?"

Hermione tossed her chin up.

"I'm not sure what it is you're reporting on - I can't imagine there's been a single stone not unturned by your lot," she huffed, "But I have nothing to say on the matter. Excuse me," stepping to the side, she turned to walk away, then threw a sharp glare back at him, "And to be perfectly honest, I think it rather rude that you would approach me with such questions at my place of work."

"Right," he continued, unfazed, then fixed her with a lofty smirk, "And how about your relationship with Mr. Draco Malfoy? Would you care to comment on that?"

* * *

_"Don't say that," she said furiously, "You don't know what that means!"_

_"Hermione, I'm telling you," he straightened himself as he looked down at her position on the floor. He was distraught as he said, "I can't do this without you - I need you. Please," his eyes were frantic, "I need you."_

_"For what?! What more could you possibly need from me that you haven't already taken?" Her voice rose with her anger, "You keep saying you need me and I keep giving myself to you," she spat the words like the notion behind them disgusted her, "You keep coming to me for something that I don't have! Clearly I can't help you!"_

_Draco furrowed his brows as he looked at her, lips turned down to a sour frown. His pale cheeks were tinged with pink as he glared at her._

_"I never asked for your help!" He bellowed._

_"Then why do you keep taking it?!"_

_"Fine, Granger!" he set his shoulders back, a measured severity seeping into his tone, "You are hereby absolved of any acts of charity where I am concerned. You can take your pity sex back."_

_"Pity sex?!" She shot to her feet and stormed up to him, "You wanted that just as much as I did!"_

Right?

_He swallowed harshly and averted his gaze._

Tell me _, she thought_ , Tell me you wanted it, too.

_"I'm giving you an out, Granger, I suggest you take it."_

_He might as well have dumped a bucket of cold water over her. The realization that something deep down - so far down in the depths of her heart and soul, in the place she kept him, the place that she had hid even from herself - was now not true,_ broke her _. She couldn't believe she'd been so stupid, so naive as to let herself hope that this might have meant something more to him. She was smarter than that._

_Draco stared coldly at the dresser in the corner of the room. Her beaded bag sat atop it and he realized, in that moment, the reason she still had it. What would he do if - when she disappeared from his life? Would he think about her still? Would he reminisce about their time together? Would he feel anything? He turned his gaze back on her, watching as the fire in her eyes burned out into nothing. Anything at all?_

_He knew his answer._

_"I don't care about the sex," she said flippantly, but inside she was locking away every piece of him she had been holding onto until that moment, every piece of him that didn't involve the physical pleasure they derived together. From now on, it was just sex. She stepped aside, clearing his path to the door, and held his wand out for him to take, "But I can't give you anything else. Not anymore."_

_The air around them was combative, buzzing with the tension of rage, revulsion, and repressed desire. Neither moved, afraid that if they did, it might be towards one another. They both knew they couldn't let each other go, but they both knew they couldn't survive that close. What would their families do? What would their friends think? What would the world say? It didn't matter, because no one would ever know what had transpired behind those walls._

_Maybe this was the push they needed. He had effectively scared her off and rightfully so. Nobody wanted a Death Eater. Nobody wanted to look at that mark on his arm for the rest of their lives, no matter how much it faded - not even him. The little comforts of waking up beside a warm body, having someone to hold at night, of reaching over to feel her, those would be gone now. He was alone again, but, for some reason, all he could think about was that rainy weekend spent in the nook by the window._

_"Stop worrying about me, Granger," he snatched his wand out of her hand and stalked towards the door, "Don't waste your time."_

* * *

"Hermione," Draco appeared with a pop in her living room, clutching the letter she'd sent by owl, "I'm sorry, I tried to get away as soon as I could. What is it? What's the matter?"

She was pacing in front of him, arms folded across her chest as she muttered repeatedly,

"They know, Draco. They know."

"What?" He approached her carefully, tentative to disturb her. She stopped suddenly and dropped onto the couch, head falling forward into her hands.

"A reporter came to the Ministry," she raked a hand through her ragged hair and forced her eyes up to his. They were bloodshot, as though she'd been crying, but wide and terrified like he'd never seen them before.

"A reporter?" He repeated, shoulders tensing. Sliding his coat off, he hung it by the door and came to kneel on the floor before her. He took her trembling hands in his and placed them in her lap. She stared down at him for a moment, biting her lower lip until it reddened and swelled.

"He has photos," she finally said, voice thickening in preparation of another onslaught of tears, "Of us."

His mouth gaped as he tried to speak. He thought he might have gotten the words out, but the furrow of her brows told him he'd barely eked out a breath.

"He has photos, Draco!" Her voice rose and then broke, "Of us. At the bar."

Draco swallowed, but his throat was dry as a barren desert.

"What do we do?" He couldn't keep the fear out of his question. Their lives would be over. His parents would find out and disown him. Potter and Weasley would surely raise hell about it; he'd probably never work at the Ministry again. And then, there was her reputation, not just socially, but professionally. What could she hope to accomplish with his past casting a shadow over her wherever she went.

"I don't know," she lifted her shoulders limply and all hope left him when he realized that even _the_ Hermione Granger didn't have a way out of their predicament.

"I'll pay them off," he decided suddenly, jumping to his feet, readying for the door, "Whatever it is, I'll keep them quiet."

"Draco, you can't," she ran to stop him. As terrified as she was by the prospect of whatever might come out, she knew that would be too high a price to pay, even for his family, "I can't ask you to do that."

"Hermione, we have to," he urged her.

"Draco," she fumbled and then shook her head, "It's too much, they won't - ,"

"What's his name?"

"Draco - ,"

"What's his name?!"

She flinched from his tone. His nostrils flared as he cursed to himself. He softened and tried again,

"Hermione, what's his name?"

Staunchly, she folded her arms over her chest.

"I can't ask you to do that. I won't," she repeated, setting her shoulders, "He showed me the photos, Draco."

"What are they?" She didn't want to answer, but the longer she remained silent, the worse his fears became, " _What are they?_ "

"He has pictures of us," she swallowed and dropped her gaze, like she couldn't bear to look at him as she said it, "Kissing."

Draco hung his head. It might as well have been a photo of him bending her over the counter; it wouldn't have made a difference. Conversely, he was certain it would have been just as damning had they been seated at opposite ends of the establishment.

"We were at a muggle bar, Draco," Hermione said, as if she knew what he was thinking, "He must have been walking by. I don't know, but it's not like we were being careless."

"That's exactly what we were being!" he bellowed. Hermione snapped her eyes to his, narrowing them in warning.

"It's not like he caught us," she lowered her voice suddenly, " _Together_."

"What does it matter? We have no reason to be near each other! Not in their eyes," Draco sighed and reeled his anger back, "What did you tell him?"

She put a hand to her forehead and inhaled sharply.

"I just told him I didn't know what he was talking about, so he showed me the photos and I," she blinked as a tear rolled down her cheek, "I panicked. I didn't know what to say, so I yelled at him to leave me alone."

"You yelled at him?" Draco questioned, utterly dumbfounded by her response.

"I didn't mean to," she protested, shaking her head, "I panicked!"

She turned away from him, nerves frayed and hopes dashed, a nauseating despair settling into her stomach.

"It's okay," he said, even though he didn't believe it, "We'll figure this out."

"We can't," she shook her head and stumbled to her couch. With a heavy thump, she dropped onto it once more, the weight of everything falling upon her at once. The weight of years of diverted feelings and suppressed desires assaulting her in tandem, "You're right, we have no reason to be together. It's over."

"It doesn't have to be," he said softly, kneeling before her again. He struggled to look at her as a familiar guilt tangled itself in him once more, settling like it had never left. This was his fault. Once again, he was the only thing wrong in her life, "I can pay him off."

"No," she shook her head adamantly, "We can't do that."

"Hermione," he sighed.

"Draco," she said firmly.

"We have to make a choice now," he insisted.

"What choice is there to make?" Her shoulders slumped. He started to respond, but stalled himself. Then, he opened his mouth again, but a reluctance to offer his solution nearly gave him pause once more.

"We can keep doing this," he said slowly, reaching for her hands. His thumb stroked her knuckles to keep it from twitching, "We can keep things the way they are. I can pay him off - I don't care about the cost. We can keep things quiet, meet in secret. Nobody has to know."

"Draco," she scoffed and pulled herself free. Standing from the couch, she strode halfway across the room before turning to face him. He rose to his feet slowly, her eyes following him the whole way, "What will we say to our parents? In another ten years when we're still unmarried and we have no children, what do we say to them?"

"I don't know," he was concentrated on her, watching her receding on her little island as every word he spoke took him further away from her, "But we can do that, Granger, if you want. I can pay off that reporter and we can be more careful in the future. We'll find a way to make it work."

She couldn't ignore the twitch of his thumb against his leg. He was aware of it, trying to hide it, embarrassed by how apparent his true feelings were. Hermione relented, sparing him her unyielding eyes; it wasn't fair. She couldn't even begin to consider his proposition. A life without a family, without support, without love, without happiness - he had already suffered too much and for too long at the hands of other people.

She refused to be one of them.

Though she did not doubt him, or their feelings, she doubted her doubted her strength. She doubted her independence.

For the first time in her life, she doubted herself. Finally, she spoke again,

"I can't ask you to do that."

She twisted her fingers together, her words heavy as they fell from her tongue, "If we're not going to be together - if we're not going to try - then what are we doing?"

It was a question she'd continued to ponder long after she'd asked him the first time at Hogwarts. He hadn't had an answer for her then, but she hoped he would now.

After all, she had hers.

"I want a family, Draco," she said firmly, "I want children, I want happiness," her lip quivered as she admitted - to him and her, "I want that with you."

He'd spent his whole life living for others; he'd never tasted freedom until her, but he knew he could never go back. In the last ten years, she had forgotten its taste, but he was there to remind her now. Sweet and bitter, savory and sour, it tasted of heartache and love, of regret and promise, of the past they couldn't change and the future they could.

Draco was willing to admit that he had been a fucking idiot in his younger years. A blind, deaf, and dumb git who couldn't see the beauty of the woman in front of him, who couldn't hear the desire for him in her voice when she spoke, who couldn't understand that he had not only been capable of loving her, but had, in fact, already fallen long before they ever admitted it. If he could go back to that night in the nook, he'd have pledged so much more to her. He'd have taken her in his arms, cradled her to him, and never let her go.

"I want that, too," he said softly, a quiet admission, but they both knew it was so much more than that. It was a vow, the undertaking of an oath, a covenant of their hearts that no one could break, "Hermione - ,"

She cut him off with a kiss, bridging the final gap between them so that they might lay their claim upon each other once and for all. Heat blossomed between them, fueled by passion and promise, desire and dedication. They didn't care how long it took, not after ten years of agonizing regret and brutal shame and tireless yearning.

All that mattered now was that they do it together.

* * *

_They had begun to adopt a physical distance between them, something that had never been there before. The carefully constructed intimacy that had taken them months to establish was not gone, but it was blatantly excluded, shoved aside to make room for the now perpetual contempt that hung in the air. Or at least, that's what they called it. Contempt didn't make them want to kiss each other senseless. Contempt wasn't the empty spaces in their beds. Contempt wasn't the feeling of him inside her._

_Where there once might have been tenderness born from a mutual understanding, now there was only a casual cruelty and a vicious intent to force the other into subjugation. Their lust was now fueled by the fears that kept them awake at night and the loneliness their nightmares left them with. Through prideful demands and derisive retorts, sex became a battle of wits and wills._

_"Harder!" She demanded, smacking her hand against the window. She knelt on the cushions of the nook as Draco stood behind her, sinking his cock into her sharply, and a whinging breath was knocked from her. He reached forward, locking their fingers together on the cool glass._

_"I don't think you can take it, Granger," he sneered in her ear, punctuating his words with a slow, deep thrust. Her cheek slipped along the window, breath fanning across to reach their hands._

_"Mmm," she bit her lip, trying to measure out the desperation of her moans, "Do it."_

_"Beg me," he taunted her. Hermione scoffed and he pulled back just to drive into her, contorting the sound into a cry, "I said beg for it, Granger."_

_She clutched to the little bit of coherency he'd left her with and squeezed her walls around his shaft, delighting in the way he faltered at the sensation._

_"Make me, Draco," she challenged him, voice breaking from pleasure, "Make me want it."_

_She couldn't let him know just how badly she already did, how badly she_ still _wanted him. And he couldn't admit that he was ready to run back to her, if only she'd open her arms for him again. It was their final term and their days were numbered; every moan, every thrust, every climax could be their last._

_He yanked her back by a fistful of hair, bringing her ear to his mouth. His tongue swept along the outer shell and drew her lobe between his teeth. She shivered as his breath hit her and he hissed luridly,_

_"Do you feel how easy it is for me to slide into that tight cunt of yours?" He slowed his hips, rocking within her leisurely, letting her walls catch on the head of his cock. She dug her teeth into her lip until she tasted blood and he surged forward, pushing in to the base. Her entire body shook as she tried to hold on, squeezing her thighs together; she had much more to lose in this than just her pride, "You're so wet, Granger, so eager for me."_

_He forced her eyes to his and she saw just how foregone he was, perhaps more than her, but he was watching that fire, watching it burn with spite and fury - and what he saw as disgust._

_"Hm," she gulped down air while she could, her head spinning from the change in his pace, "Don't flatter yourself."_

_His gaze narrowed and he pulled out of her suddenly. She grappled at the window for balance, but he was quick to flip her around so that she faced him as he kneeled where she once had. Sliding his arms under her legs, he hoisted them around his waist and drove into her. Her back arched off the glass as he stole her breath with a kiss. She felt his hands snap to her hips, tightening around her pliant flesh to a painful grip. Breaking away from her, he fucked into her roughly, his sack smacking against her arse and his eyes pinning her in place._

_She couldn't control herself anymore, every moan or cry or fractured word an encouragement of his efforts. He knew her better than she gave him credit for, and certainly more than she wished to. But, that's what it was to love him: power and powerlessness. It was to be in power and to feel powerless._

_"Draco!"_

_"That's it, Granger," he sneered, panting heavily, "Come for me."_

_Power. She rolled her hips against his, sinking her nails into his back until he groaned._

_And powerlessness. His lips found her ear and he whispered darkly,_

_"I want to feel that tight cunt of yours come on my cock," he'd lost himself long ago, but he had her teetering on the edge, "Filthy little - ,"_

_She captured his lips in a vicious kiss, digging her teeth in as he fucked her into another orgasm._

* * *

"Bugger them all," she said haughtily as they sat in the dining room of the Potters' home.

"Ginny!" Hermione balked.

"Yes, even Harry and Ron - No, _especially_ those two," she nodded, "They'll come around eventually."

"Have you?" Hermione asked seriously. Ginny considered her for a moment, watching the creases in her friend's face deepen the longer she remained silent.

"Yeah, I suppose I have," she leaned back in her chair, "Can't say I'll ever get over it, but I'm not the one shagging him, am I?"

"No," Hermione said with a laugh, "I guess not."

"It won't be easy," Ginny said solemnly, "But you know that already. So, for what it's worth, I'll be here for you. No matter what."

Hermione pulled Ginny into a secure hug, breathing a quiet sigh of relief.

"Thank you," she said gratefully, "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Nonsense," she squeezed Hermione, "We'd all be lost without you."

They pulled back with a shared smile and Hermione felt her spirits lifting just a little bit more. She was secretly dreading the moment Harry and Ron returned, but it was a comfort to know that she at least had one person on her side.

* * *

The Manor looked better than he did, its garden meticulously trimmed, the long paved road refurbished, and its towering front doors restored to their glory before the war. Draco lingered on the front steps, smoothing the tie over his chest. His breaths were heavy, his thumb quivered with an itch, and the hairs on the back of his neck had stood to attention. No amount of remodeling could ever make this place feel like home again. He wouldn't even be there if it weren't for such an important reason.

He tried to steady himself as he raised his hand; he couldn't let his father see him like this. If he sniffed out even an ounce of cowardice or fear or shame, he would latch onto it, stoke it and turn it loose on him to ravage whatever was left of his fractured being. Draco couldn't let that happen, he'd spent too many years syphoning the poison of his family's teachings from his body, trying to replace it with something else, something good, something that was his and his alone. Yet that hole was still there, smaller now, but swelling in the presence of his family, ready to receive whatever the Manor and its occupants had to offer.

Gathering himself, he knocked once, then twice, and a third time just for good measure.

"Master Malfoy," a timid house elf, one he didn't recognize, stepped to the side upon opening the door, "F-Forgive me, we were not expecting you."

"It's alright," he waved his hand and stepped into the foyer, "I came to surprise them."

He lingered there for a moment longer than he should have, observing the tapestries and paintings that told the story of a life much different from what he'd lived. He stepped further into the house, the tap of his shoes echoing, contorting into the maniacal cackle of his Aunt Bellatrix and the chilling drawl of the man he once called Lord. The air around him was stagnant and musty, suggesting that the repairs to its exterior had not stopped this corpse of wood and marble from rotting within.

"Draco, darling," his mother emerged from the open study door he'd just passed. He'd been so focused on looking ahead of him, measuring his steps, forging his path ahead, that he'd failed to see her. A hesitant smile spread over her lips, a cautious excitement enlightening her features, but at once she admonished him, "You should have told me you were coming. I could have prepared something."

"I won't stay long," he approached her carefully, embracing her tighter than he might normally and wondered if this would be the last time they spoke. She had lost many of her prejudices over the years, but there were some things that even she wouldn't tolerate. He was still unsure if this was one of them, "Where is he?"

"Oh, Draco," she beamed and he felt his heart constrict, realizing she must have thought his long awaited visit was his means of reconciliation. She would be sorely disappointed.

"I need to speak to both of you," he said stiffly, throat bobbing as he swallowed past the growing lump in his throat. He couldn't lose his nerve, not now.

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes."

No, it wasn't.

But it could be.

It would be.

"Draco?"

They turned their heads in unison to the source of the voice. His father stood rigidly, encompassing the breadth of the archway that led to another hall. He appeared haggard with the prominent layer of stubble adorning his chin and neck and his oddly sallow skin, even for the normal Malfoy pallor. Draco attributed it to the glass in Lucius's hand; the men of his family often turned to the comfort of drink when their burdens became too much to bear.

A steady, heavy dread filtered through him as he looked at his father. There was a haunting resemblance, a foreboding vision of who he was doomed to be; an estranged man with dwindling wealth and diminishing prospects, clinging to the only things that ever mattered to him - his status as a pureblood and his family name. Draco didn't want to be the one to break it to him, but neither succeeded in achieving much of anything these days.

"What are you doing here?" The malice he had expected to hear in his father's voice was instead a tone of reticent curiosity. Draco breathed deeply, committing that image of Lucius to his memory, searing it into the back of his eyes so that he might always be reminded of what awaited him, and so forever deterred from becoming him. His thumb inched towards the ring on his forefinger, stroking the signet thoughtfully.

He was not a child anymore.

"I need to tell you something," Draco exhaled sharply through his nostrils. He could feel his mother's eyes boring into the side of his head, but all he could see was the twitch of his father's expression as he uttered, "Before you read it in the Prophet."

Narcissa cast a hesitant glance to the house elves milling about the Manor.

"Not here, darling," she gestured for them to follow her, "Why don't you join us in the study?"

* * *

_The moment it was over, they treated each other as though nothing had ever transpired. They ignored the bruises and bites, the reddened cheeks and sore muscles. They would take separate baths and dress in their own rooms. She would complete her homework before the fireplace and he would confine himself upstairs until she was done. When it was time for their rounds, they had left no space for conversation, so they walked the expanse of the grounds in silence - a silence broken only when they caught a student out after hours._

_She wouldn't look for him in the Great Hall anymore, forcing her eyes to her half eaten meals, and he didn't make her tea when she was up late studying. Like two ships in the night, they were oblivious to each other until they collided in their explosive passion. But the end of the year still approached. No matter what she did, no matter how much she clung to him, screamed for him, loved him, he was only days away from being gone forever._

_So, he sought her out one evening, finding her in the nook, fully clothed beneath a blanket with a book in hand. She wasn't certain if it was the imminence of their departure or the tedium that came with their last week together, but he came to sit opposite her, churning gray eyes staring intently until she lowered her reading material. A terse moment of silence passed, like a moment of mourning for all things gone and all things that never would be, until she realized he wouldn't be the first to speak._

_"What do we do?" She finally asked him. As soon as the question was out, she wondered why she hadn't spoken it sooner. Was it so absurd to want an answer? The end was upon them; they had survived the year and each other, but what was the cost? She needed to know._

_"Granger," he gaped for a moment as he wondered how to respond, but he couldn't pretend he didn't know what she was talking about. With a heavy sigh, he shook his head and turned to look out the window. The end was upon them, but there was so much left for him to say. How could he tell her that he had been agonizing over that very question for months now? He recalled wandering the empty Manor halls over Christmas, feeling the chill of its memories seeping beneath his skin, reminding him when he had just begun to forget._

_He didn't know what he wanted, but he knew Hermione deserved better. He didn't know what_ she _wanted, but he was sure it wasn't him. It was only sex, just as she'd said, but it wasn't casual. It never had been and it never could be, no matter how hard he tried to stay away. Even if they continued on as they were -_

 _He recalled his father's disinterest in his studies, the disappointment in his tone at Draco's choice to return to school. It was the same venomous disgust that Draco once used to refer to her. How could he bring her around his pureblood family? How could he subject her to their judgements, their blatant prejudices? She had survived enough of that, and at his hand no less. His family, his_ father _could never - how could he introduce her as the woman that he -_

_Draco clenched his fists. He couldn't pretend that she was nothing anymore, that she was a means to an end, that he wasn't lost -_

_"Forget it," she threw the blanket off of her and stormed up the stairs, oblivious to the way he watched her, oblivious to the words hanging off his tongue. Hermione slammed her door shut and fell back on the bed. His silence had been enough to seal the lock on her heart._

* * *

"Why didn't you tell us, Hermione?"

"Are you mad?!" Ron looked between his two best friends, "You and Malfoy?"

Harry studied the dip in her brow as she glared at Ron.

"No, Ronald, I'm not," she sighed.

"She's in love," Ginny remarked happily.

"Oh, come off it," he balked.

"Ron's right," Harry shrugged, but avoided her disparaging gaze, as well as the deathly glare his wife was shooting him, "He's not exactly a step up from Cormac, is he?"

"Of course he is," she said defensively, "Maybe not at first glance, but if you took the time to know him now - ,"

"I've spent nearly every day of the last three months with him and he's still an arsehole," Ron protested.

"Well, you have to admit, he does seem a bit different," Harry said placidly.

"Even if he was," Ron interjected, "You're okay with everything that he's done? Everything he's put you through?"

"Of course not," Hermione swallowed, "But people change, Ron. He's allowed to feel remorse for his actions, as well as to try and better himself," her cheeks reddened as she uttered her next words, "And he's allowed to want happiness. _I_ am allowed to want happiness."

Harry was pensive, listening silently and rubbing the stubble on his chin as an excuse for something to do. Ron, meanwhile, did nothing to hide the unnerved and befuddled expression on his face.

"So I should have mum make him a sweater next Christmas, then? A bright big 'D' for Death Eater?" He bit out venomously.

"Ron!" Ginny admonished him, smacking his arm, but it was too late. Hermione felt the sting in her eyes as her two worlds finally collided. It was no less destructive than she had imagined, but infinitely more painful. With a deep breath, she struggled to quell the storm rising within her.

"I wanted to do this differently," she said, "I thought if we had more time - I don't know," she shook her head, "The truth is, I've wanted this for over ten years and I screwed up my first chance to take it. I don't want to do that again," she swallowed stiffly, "I can't. And I don't think I've even told him that in so many words, but I'm telling you both, because I love you. You are my best friends and I need you in my life," she swallowed thickly and looked squarely at Harry and Ron, "But I also - I also need to be happy."

Ginny stood from her chair, rounding the dining table to place her hand on Hermione's shoulder. Her heart swelled at the simple action and she gave Ginny a grateful smile.

"We're not going anywhere, Hermione," nudging Ron, Harry continued, "We've been through much worse together, right?"

Ron was silent, a scowl forming over his reddened features.

"Ron, might I remind you that you even had a problem when she and Cormac started dating," Ginny piped up.

"Yeah, because he was a twat!" He said flippantly.

"Seems there's no pleasing you," Ginny teased, "Not that she should have to, because it's _her life_."

"Of course, but it's our job to point out when she's being completely mental!" Ron pushed away from the table and stood suddenly, "How are you all okay with this? It's Malfoy!"

Harry struggled for an answer, casting a glance at Ginny and Hermione for help.

"You don't have to be okay with it, Ron," Hermione said finally, "I just want you to be my friend."

For a contentious breath, they held each other's gazes, but then he turned on his heel and marched out of the room.

* * *

"You've gotten her pregnant, haven't you?" The disappointment in his father's voice was something he was used to hearing, something he'd grown up with. But this was different, he _wanted_ children, at some point, and he would be so lucky if it was with her. Draco snapped,

"Even if that was the case, it wouldn't be a mistake," his father made an almost imperceptible sound, "I've made my decision. My coming here was only as a courtesy so that you could hear it from me first," he turned to face Narcissa and saw that even she couldn't conceal her shock. He softened his tone, but his words were firm, "I didn't come here to ask for your permission."

"You will ruin this family," Lucius seethed.

"We _are_ ruined," Draco glowered, "Yet, somehow, you are still blind to that fact."

"Darling," Narcissa reached for Draco's hand, drawing it towards her. She petted the ring on his finger, tracing the lines of their family crest, "The world may have changed, but there are certain duties that come with your status. We have tradition to uphold."

"Being pureblood means nothing anymore," Draco seethed, but for his mother's sake, he left his hand in hers, "What woman would look twice at me now anyways?"

"There are prospects," Lucius said through gritted teeth, "Thoroughbred witches with a longstanding reputation in our community."

"They're not Hermione," he said bluntly, "I've made up my mind about this. I made it up ten years ago."

"This happened at school?" Narcissa asked and Draco nodded. He could see the revelation in her eyes, but of what, he wasn't sure. A roiling silence followed until Narcissa spoke again, "Are you certain about this?"

"Narcissa!" Lucius shot out of his chair, a look of horror and betrayal on his gaunt features.

"Do you want our son to be unhappy for the rest of his life?" She spat.

"Think of how people will talk when this gets out," Lucius berated them.

"I have," Draco swallowed harshly, "For ten years."

Narcissa clutched his hand tighter, her heart breaking for her son. She had her own qualms, but they were futile prejudices in the face of her son's suffering.

"Darling," she said, somber and contrite, "I could never live with myself if you were unhappy because of me, but I hope you know you have chosen the worst way to go about this."

"We didn't choose this," Draco shook his head, "We were trying to keep it quiet."

"Rightly so," Lucius barked, "What a disgrace. She's not good enough for you or our name."

Draco shot to his feet, glaring as he advanced on his father who leaned back in his chair.

"Let me tell you what's a disgrace," Draco took the sleeve of his suit coat and shoved it up to his elbow, exposing the faded mark on his forearm, "Walking around with this for the rest of my life," Lucius averted his gaze, but Narcissa couldn't look anywhere else, "Because that's not fucking going away anytime soon," he snapped, watching his father's face fall with shame and regret. He would have relished in it, if not for the hollowing despair the reality of their past brought with it. He stared Lucius down, a chilling calm falling over him, "I didn't come here for your permission," he repeated, "I don't expect you to have tea with her parents - at least not yet - but if you ever want to see your grandchildren, you're going to have to accept this."

"Draco," Narcissa started as he shoved his sleeve down and began for the door, "Draco, wait!"

"No. I'm going home," he said furiously, storming out of the room. Narcissa followed on his heels and caught him by the wrist.

"You're not going anywhere," she said sharply, "Go in that room and apologize."

"I don't - ,"

"He's your father!" her frustration, a culmination from the years since the war ended, lanced through the air. She took a moment to compose herself, then said softly, "Draco, darling, you've no idea what we went through to keep you safe. We only want what's best for you. You'll understand this when you have children of your own, but sometimes you think that you know better than they do. There will come a day when you have to accept that they will make their own decisions," she clasped her hands around his and looked into his eyes. She could see so much of the man he'd become, but, to her, he would always be that little boy waddling into her arms as he took his first steps. It didn't matter how tall he'd grown or how broad his shoulders had become, to her he would always be that small child that she could seat on her hip as they strolled the halls of the Manor together. He would always, first and foremost, be her son, "Your father has made so many mistakes in his life and you have had to face those consequences. For that, he'll never forgive himself. But he's learned and he doesn't want to make those same mistakes again."

"It's my life," Draco said bitterly.

"Darling," Narcissa tutted at him, "You can't blame us for being adverse to the idea. We barely know her," she cupped his chin and kissed his cheek, "Prove to us that she deserves you."

" _I_ don't deserve her," he said limply, but Narcissa shook her head.

"You deserve the world," she squeezed his hand, "And I won't approve of anyone who gives you less than that."

Draco was quiet as she beamed brightly at him. Brushing a lock of his hair out of his eyes, she said softly,

"I'm so proud of you."

Lucius cleared his throat and they turned to see him standing in the threshold of the study. He had left his drink on the table and his hands shook as he stared at them. His bloodshot eyes wavered, passing between his wife and his son, his mouth slightly agape as he searched for the words. Narcissa held a hand out, keeping one clasped around Draco's. Lucius stepped forward on unsteady feet and laced his fingers with hers. Narcissa faced her son once more and said, assuredly,

"So is your father."

Draco looked to Lucius; he needed confirmation despite his mother's words.

Lucius gave it. A simple nod of his head was all it took and Draco stepped closer to his father, his mind heavy, but his heart free.

* * *

_The last night at Hogwarts had erupted into sheer chaos and McGonagall seemed all too happy to let it reign. Students spilled out onto the castle grounds, throwing sparks up with their wands and chasing each other around on their brooms. Hermione watched it all from the window in the nook, smiling at the revelry. She knew she should be down there, saying her goodbyes and sharing in the celebrations, but she couldn't bring herself to leave the dormitory. A portion of her wasn't ready to leave. She wasn't just parting ways with the school that she'd called home for so many years, but with every memory she made within it._

_As she leaned against the wall of the nook, she pressed her hand to the window firmly. Her knuckles whited and the glass fogged around her fingers. She smiled; she wasn't ready for it to disappear yet._

_"Granger," her head snapped towards the door as Draco stepped inside, "Why aren't you outside?"_

_Because she was avoiding him and her friends and her future. It had been a week since she'd been around him, having gone to great lengths just to keep from running into him._

_"I've been packing," she said softly, letting her hand fall back into her lap. Her eyes met his and the cloudy gray that swirled around his pupils pulled her in. A portion of her wasn't ready to leave, "Why aren't_ you _down there?"_

_"I'm not one for parties," he ambled around the common room and stopped before the fireplace, his back to her. She studied him for a moment; he was devoid of his uniform and dressed in a crisp suit. She caught sight of the black tie tucked into his coat and her heart broke a little bit more._

_"If I'm in your way, I can go up - ,"_

_"You're not in my way," he scowled, pushing off the mantle to move towards her. She braced herself, as though she had the means to close him off when he was already buried so far under her skin, "I was looking for you."_

_"Draco, I," the words dried in her throat as she peered up at him. She wanted to tell him that she couldn't, wouldn't do this tonight. She wanted to be better than that. She wanted to believe that she was better than that. She wanted to believe that she was strong enough to tell him she didn't need him anymore._

_But, then, that wouldn't be true._

_"Just tonight," he entreated her, hands stuffed in his pockets to keep from reaching for her, "I need you tonight."_

_Hermione stood slowly. She still didn't know what that meant and she didn't think he did, either, but if she left without saying goodbye to him, she knew she'd regret it the rest of her life. And a portion of her wasn't ready to leave._

_"Okay," she nodded and closed the distance between them. If this was their last time, she would make it count._

_It took them no time at all to shed their clothes, their inhibitions, and to suspend their insecurities, but they did not have time to explore, to excite, to explain. They had to act now, because tomorrow they would have to face the consequences. Tomorrow, she would have to answer for her actions. Tomorrow, he would have to fight to keep her. But tonight, they could bask in their comfort, in their freedom, in the possibility of what could be._

_For one night, she belonged to him. For one night, she let him own her. For one night, she was his and he was hers. They gifted each other pain, marks from teeth and nails, lips and tongue, wounds that littered the surface and marred what lay beneath, scars that they would bear for years to come. But they would not wear them with pride. They would be secrets kept, hidden by the clothes they wore, exposed only in the privacy of their rooms at night when they were violently woken by their brutal nightmares._

_For one night, they strived to hurt each other as much as they believed the other had hurt them._

_"Look at me," he commanded, pinching her chin in a tight grip as she rode him brutally. She lowered her gaze to his and he found that defiant blaze burning in her muddy orbs. Transfixed, he watched it flare with every descent down his cock. She seemed to have no concern for the ferocity of her movements, so he responded in kind, digging his teeth into the skin over the pulse point on her neck. She twisted her fingers in his hair until he hissed in pain._

_For one night, they didn't stop._

* * *

**SCANDAL AT MALFOY MANOR: HERMIONE'S LATEST CONQUEST**

**Our harrowing Hogwarts heroine is nothing if not thorough. Her latest foray into the world of man has placed her alongside none other than fellow alumni, Draco Lucius Malfoy. Pictured above, the pair can be seen cozying up in a muggle bar - no doubt in the hopes of maintaining the secrecy of their affair. This startling revelation comes on the heels of Cormac McGlaggen's alleged new romance. While one can assume the two incidents are related -**

A loud knock sounded at Draco's door and he dropped the Sunday paper on his kitchen counter. The same crude photo of he and Hermione played their kiss on repeat, a tireless record of their affections for all the world to see. He started for the door, his heart hammering in his chest as he closed a hand around the handle and twisted it open. He knew she'd be standing there, but he still felt that nauseating flutter in his stomach at the sight of her. She stood in her thick coat and weathered boots, gloved hands in her pockets as she looked up at him.

"I hope you've come to return my tie," he said cheekily, leaning against the doorframe with a knowing smirk.

"I told you you weren't going to get it back," she turned her nose up playfully.

"Then, I haven't the slightest idea why you're here," he crossed his arms over his chest and prompted her with a crooked brow. Hermione pursed her lips, the flame in her eyes flickering in excitement at their little game.

"I was just curious if you'd glanced at the Prophet this morning," she mused with a tilt of her head. Draco lifted his gaze briefly to the clock, before returning it to her. He could see the corners of her lips pulling up, even as she stood in the empty corridor of his building.

"I've hardly had breakfast, Granger," he teased, "In fact, I was just about to sit down with my morning cup and read the paper."

"Go ahead," she gestured in the direction of his kitchen, "I'll wait."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her and pushed off the doorframe to retrieve his copy of the Daily Prophet. She didn't follow him in and he wondered, as he snatched up the paper and strode back to her, why she made such an effort to restrain herself.

"Oh," Draco pointed to a small column on the front page, showing it to Hermione, "Exclusive interview with the new captain of the Montrose Magpies. That should be riveting - Ooh, and it looks like Twilfitt is having a sale. Mum will be happy about that," he folded the paper twice and tucked it under his arm, mocking a frown, "Must be a slow news day."

"You're such an arse," she shook her head with a laugh, then settled her determined eyes on him. Her lips parted as she breathed deeply, chest swelling with every ounce of fortitude she could muster. She lifted her leg and placed a pointed toe just past the threshold of the door, less than a foot into his flat, "This is me," her voice shook, but she pushed herself the rest of the way through, right into his living room, "Walking back through your door."

She turned to look at Draco who stood stock still, stricken and speechless by her declaration. She waited expectantly, shifting on her feet, but all he did was stare. With the jumble of her thoughts, she tried to collect herself, wading through the noise to decipher what it was she wanted to tell him and how precisely she desired to say it. Finally, she decided on the truth.

 **"** I wanted to come to you that night," her voice didn't tremble, but it was softened by her shame, "When I left Cormac. I almost did, but I - I needed to sort some things out for myself first," she lowered her eyes to the floor, "I needed to make sure I was doing it for myself - for my own happiness, you know? Not just because I wanted you - because I did, I do - Of course I do. And I thought that if I came here right after, I couldn't - I-I wouldn't be able to - ,"

The door shut swiftly and she heard him flick the locks before he was walking towards her. She made a purposeful step backwards, away from him; she wasn't finished, not yet.

"I felt - I _feel_ so guilty about what we did," she was staring at his socks now, mostly covered by the legs of his trousers. She'd caught him in his pyjamas, a sight she hadn't seen since their time together at Hogwarts.

"Did you tell him?" Draco kept himself from reaching for her, wringing the paper anxiously in his hands instead.

"I did. I didn't tell him who," she exhaled heavily, "But I suppose he'll know now."

It was difficult for Draco to take pleasure in their situation, much more so than he thought it would be. Though he didn't sympathize with Cormac, he knew how it felt to think about Hermione with another man. The precariousness of their relationship certainly didn't help matters. It wasn't as though they could just fall into each others' arms and all their problems would now be solved. There was still a whole world outside of the two of them, a whole new chapter in their lives that had yet to be written, but one they knew would not be without its judgements, derisions, and obstructions. There lay uncertainty, but also promise, an affluence of passion, of friendship, of -

"I love you," she said at last, lifting her wide brown eyes and reciting the words as if the notion were a marvel to her, as if she were just realizing it for the first time, again. At her admission, Draco smiled, stealing the breath from her chest and disrupting the beat of her heart; it was innocent and unassuming, but playful and endearing - boyish one might even call it. When he smiled, it was different. When he smiled, everything in her world fell into place.

He closed the distance between them and brought his thumb up to stroke her cheek, every swipe deepening the bloom in her skin.

"I don't give a fuck about the papers," he said ardently.

"The whole world thinks I'm a harlot," she rolled her eyes and laughed in spite of the concept.

"If that's true," he smirked and lowered his head, his mouth just inches from hers, "Then it's also true that I've taken advantage of you."

"Absurd," she muttered as her eyes closed and she tilted her neck, "Clearly I've taken advantage of you."

"In my family's fragile state," his nose brushed hers, "Have you no shame, Granger?"

"None," they shared a breath, their lips parted, "None where it concerns you."

"Good."

They met with a fervent clash as she flung her arms around his neck and he dropped his hands to her waist. Though they tried, they couldn't pull each other close enough, couldn't kiss each other hard enough, couldn't convey their feelings well enough. But that didn't stop them.

"You've no idea what you do to me, Hermione," his lips were on hers between every word, between every breath. The husk of his voice and heat of his touch caused her to shiver and she reached between them to stroke the firm bulge poorly hidden by the pleat of his trousers.

"I feel it," she said smugly and nipped his chin.

"No," he pulled back to rest his forehead against hers, "You still don't realize how much control you have. . . Over me," he took hold of her hand, removing it from his groin, "Not just here," he brought it up to his chest, flattening her fingers over his heart. His lips parted; he wanted to say the words, he meant to, but the fire in her eyes had burned him, so all he could utter was, "Not just there."

"Draco," she tried to impart upon him the complexity of what he'd just told her, of what she had once told him. _Power and powerlessness_. They brought each other pain and healed each other's wounds. Quietly, her gaze locked with his, she whispered, "You're not a coward. You are one of the bravest people I know and I would never have had the courage to do this without you."

"It won't always be like this," he said solemnly, reticent to bask in the elation of her words, "It's going to get worse before it gets better."

"I know," she nodded and placed her other hand over his at his heart. She thought of telling him about Ron or asking how it went with his parents, but there would be time for that later. For that moment, she wanted to preserve the sanctity of their intimacy, to revel in a happiness that was entirely their own, "But it will get better."

Silence surrounded them, heavy with all that had been said and all that still needed to be said, but she pushed onto her toes to kiss him instead. She felt his lips curl against hers and smiled in turn. They parted for a breath, her eyes searching his.

"I need you," she admitted, free now. She needed him everywhere, needed him to love her, needed him to touch her, needed him to just be with her in any way that she could have him.

"I know," he whispered against her lips as they teetered on the precipice of their future, "I need you, too."

* * *

_He pushed her to her knees and tangled his hands in her hair. He whispered in her ear, callous words that made salacious promises he could never keep. But for one night, she believed them._

_"More," she gasped, his hips snapping into hers. He let her fall forward to clutch his sheets, to bury her sobs and moans in his pillows, to hide her shame where no one, not even she, could see it._

_"Beg me," he taunted her, fully expecting that defiant flame of hers to scorch him as she retorted with a scathing remark or a teasing look. He wanted her to deny him, to make him work for her pleasure, just like she always did. He wanted her to tell him that she didn't need him, not to talk to, not to hold her at night, and certainly not to get herself off. He wanted her to tell him that she had been wasting her time with him, that he was nothing to her, that he was undeserving of her attention, "Beg me, Granger."_

_He needed her hatred, her spite, her disdain - he needed everything from her. For one night, he would have it all. For one night, that was all he would have._

_"Make me," she spat, twisting her fingers in his sheets. With a perverse fury, he fisted her hair and yanked her back to him._

_"Come on, Granger," He hissed in her ear. Before she could answer, lips parted, he shoved two fingers in her mouth, depressing her tongue as she tried to speak. He rolled his hips against her, "I know you can do it. Beg for my cock, beg to come, beg - "_

_She bit down on his fingers and he released her with a sharp growl. She clutched onto his pillows to steady herself and flashed him a wild, defiant grin. He surged forward, cock striking her hard enough to shove her up the bed. His stinging fingers wound through her hair to arch her neck painfully._

_"You need this, don't you, Hermione?" He asked with a disdainful sneer. He had to hear it, had to hear her tell him off, had to hear her challenge the very notion that he might have something to offer her. But more than anything, he_ wanted _to hear her say she didn't need him anymore. He had to. His thrusts became erratic, errant and desperate as she fluttered around him, "Who's going to fuck you like this, hm? Weasley? Potter?"_

_She eked out a small noise as she grappled for stability, for sanity, for salvation._

_"What's that?" He goaded her, mocking her, "Tell me who, filthy little thing."_

_"No - ," she choked on a moan, her throat raw, her skin blistered by his touch, her heart ravaged, "No one."_

_He couldn't contain the animalistic sound that came from him at her declaration._

_No one. No one._ No. One.

_"Draco," her roughened voice was muffled by the pillow, but loud enough that he could distinctly make out her quiet supplication, "Please, Draco. Please."_

_He stumbled and slowed, releasing his hold on her hair as though she'd burned him, allowing her enough opportunity to catch her breath._

_"Please," she nearly sobbed from pleasure and frustration, "Fuck me, Draco," turning her cheek into his pillow, she peeked at him through the curtain of her hair. She'd only ever known sex with him and some part of her was aware of how sexually ignorant that made her, but that didn't change the fact that no one_ would _fuck her like Draco did. No one would speak to her the way he did. No one would kiss her the way he did. No one would hold her the way he did. No one would comfort her the way he did._

_No one would need her the way he did._

_"Please, Draco," she begged, eyes unwavering as they held his, "I need you."_

_As soon as the words were passed her lips, he sneered and drove inside of her, the broad head of his cock spreading her wide and striking her roughly. She buried her exclamation of ecstasy in the sheets beneath her, ashamed by her pleas, by her splintered hopes, and - most of all - by her devotion to him. But her sounds resounded around Draco, caging him in their satisfaction, suffocating him with her voice, with her pleasure, and - worst of all - with the atonement she offered his battered soul._

_His control was gone now, his dominance eradicated by the vulnerability she offered him. Draco snarled as his fingers dug into her hips, biting into her skin. Holding her in place, he subjected her to the savage thrusts of his cock, his harsh words in her ears, his hands on her body, and a relentless hold on her heart._

_"Please, Draco!"_

_There she was, on her knees, begging him, entreating him, pleading with him - for sex, for release, for something he couldn't give her._

_For one night, their pain was their pleasure. Their hurt was their comfort. Their pasts were their present._

_It didn't matter how much he had changed, he was still the same bigoted boy who had tormented her when they were younger. It didn't matter what he did for her, she would always see him standing in the corner of the room, watching her bleed onto the marble floors of his home. It didn't matter what she said to him, it didn't change anything he had ever said to her._

_It didn't matter how much she knew about him, or how much he knew about her, because she could never forget the things she wished to. It didn't matter that she had never felt more safe than when she woke in his arms, not when it was he who had played his part in putting her in danger to begin with. It didn't matter that she loved him, because she could never be_ in love _with him._

_So she was on her knees, begging him, entreating him, pleading with him to let her go, but Draco was clinging to her, bruising her, destroying her, holding onto her so that she could never leave._

_And for that one night, they understood each other._

* * *

"What are you doing?" Hermione quirked a brow as Draco stepped off the bed and walked over to his dresser. She sat naked atop his sheets, their clothes scattered around the floor in an obvious display of their haste. He opened a drawer and she could see the corner of a smirk forming.

"You told me that I could do whatever I wanted to you," he pulled the silver tie out, letting it unfurl as he turned to face her. There was a wicked gleam in his eyes as she looked up at him in surprise.

"Draco, that was years ago, I don't - ,"

"It's time for my payback, Granger," he approached her steadily, confident, but reticent all at once. There was still a fear, still a chance, still an inkling of doubt, and it pained her to see it in every step he took. She crawled to the edge of the bed and reached for the hand that clutched the silver tie.

"So it is," she simpered, tugging at the impeccably preserved threads. She was at once crestfallen to realize that he seemed to never have worn it and also overjoyed to know he had kept it with him for so long, "But I don't believe you ever let me finish."

"You can have your fun when I'm through," he smirked and leaned forward, lips glancing hers, "You're mine now."

"Promise?" She breathed softly. He pulled back slightly, raising the garment so that it was level with her gaze. He waited for her to nod in assent and laid the fabric across her eyes, smoothing it down to connect the ends behind her head. He knotted it twice, careful not to trap any wild strands of her hair within it, and paused to admire her. She sat back on her heels, cheeks and lips flushed, her chin raised as though she were still looking into his eyes. Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, then her neck, then her cheek. She drew in a sharp breath when his lips skimmed her ear.

"Promise," he whispered and a smile spread across her face, "But I'm going to fuck you first, Granger."

Hermione reached blindly for him and pulled him down for a searing kiss. When they parted, she nodded fervently and whispered, "Please."

Draco kissed her again, teeth tugging at her lip eagerly, "What was that?"

Despite the dark tone of his voice, the note of humor was clear in his words; he was teasing her.

With a coy grin, she scooted up the bed, away from him. As she laid back, hair fanning around her, arms raised above her head, she taunted him,

"I said I want you to fuck m - ," she gasped as she felt the ropes winding around her wrists and rendering her immobile; she hadn't even heard him pick up his wand. His fingers drifted along her ankle, sliding up her calf and over her thigh. A shiver ran up her spine the closer he inched towards her cunt, but instead of his fingers, she suddenly felt his tongue gliding along her entrance, "Oh - Draco!"

"Beg for it, Hermione," his voice dripped with desire and urgency, pouring over her as he took control of her pleasure, "I know you can."

"Please," she raised her hips towards him and he closed his lips around her clit, battering her nerves with his skilled tongue, "Yes! _Ah_ \- Don't stop! Please, Draco!"

She was begging him once more, entreating him, pleading with him to keep her, to have her, to hold her, because she couldn't part from him again.

So, no, Hermione Granger didn't beg, but she would for him.

She could no longer envision a comfort more secure than falling asleep entangled with him. She needed him. She needed him in the mornings, when all she wanted to do was curl into his arms. She needed him on the weekends when she visited her parents, as they sat around the living room to have tea and talk idly. She needed him at night, when she only had the memory of his hands, of his words, of his lust, to keep her from losing herself. She needed him now. More than ever.

And he needed her. He needed her always. He needed her in the mornings, when he woke alone and turned, hoping to capture her in his arms. He needed her at breakfast, when he held the paper in his hands and wanted to quip about a ridiculous headline. He needed her when his father berated him for his selfishness and as he cried over the burden of the Malfoy name. He needed her at night, when he had only the memory of her lips, of her body, of her voice, to keep him company. He needed her now. And forever.

As they lay together that night, joined at the hip, joined by their hearts, joined in their love, she fell asleep in his arms like she had never left and he held her tight like she had always been there.

* * *

_He wasn't cradling her or comforting her as daybreak began to stream through his window, shedding light on their illicit entanglement. His arms didn't cling to her as they so often did on previous nights. Nights that felt as though they had long passed since that moment. Nonetheless, their hips brushed, their hearts stuttered, and his fingers twitched by her shoulder, tentative but not touching._

_"We can't tell anybody," she didn't hear the scratch in his voice; the evidence of his torment over his choice, "Not Potter, not Weasley, not our families."_

_She was silent as she listened to him, biting her lip to keep from lashing out, but every word was breaking her heart in pieces, fissuring those pieces into even smaller fragments, until she could not even recognize the remnants he'd left her with._

_"Can you imagine?" He swallowed harshly, "If this ever got out. . ."_

_He trailed off until he fell quiet. The thought of such a guarded secret becoming exposed - to strangers, to friends, to anyone that knew their names -_

_"So, we just meet in secret for the rest of our lives?" She expelled the question like it was poison. When he didn't answer, Hermione shot upright. The serenity of her post coital rapture had dissolved with the severity of his words. Anger flared beneath her skin and hurt twisted her gut._

_"I want a family, Draco," she said fervently, "Not now, but someday," she wanted to direct that anger and hurt at him, to stick the point of its sharp end into his heart, just like he'd done to her - without him even realizing it, "We can't have that together."_

_He flinched at her words and a revelation hit her harder than his blatant dismissal of their affair; though they had never discussed it, had never openly contemplated it, that was something that she, against her better judgement, had deigned to consider._

_Perhaps even to fantasize about. She had been falling much longer than she could ever have imagined. While neither could have begun to express their gratitude, nor adoration, nor thirst - not their desire, or veneration, or intention - they had hoped to convey them with every brush of their lips, or clasping of their hands, or intonation of their pleasure._

_Maybe if they had gripped tight enough and moaned loud enough and fucked hard enough, maybe the other would know then. Maybe they wouldn't have to admit they were wrong, that they had made a mistake, that they were losing an opportunity - an opportunity for hope, for happiness, for lo -_

_Draco pushed himself up, cold gray eyes fixed on her, as the truth of her words hollowed out his heart. But he couldn't understand why. He couldn't understand why it hurt so bad to hear something he already knew to be true._

_Hermione hung her head, avoiding his gaze, ashamed at herself and defeated by the futility of her feelings. Slowly, she rose from his bed and went about the room gathering her discarded clothing. What more was there for her to say? How could she possibly explain to him the insufferable turmoil he had caused her? She had been waiting for so long for him to slash the cord that connected them, to sever the pleasure he had threaded through her, to -_

_"Then why are you still here?" He spat bitterly. Hermione froze, her lips parting as she stared at him, grasping for some explanation._

_But she had none. She straightened herself, undergarments dangling from her fingers as the cold steel of his eyes cut her. There was no spark left in her widened gaze, no hint of the fire she possessed, but every evidence that, inside, she was crumbling._

_"I don't know," she whispered softly and turned swiftly to run out of his room. Draco scooped up his wand and charmed the door shut with a slam behind her. Something was brewing within him, bubbling to the surface, ready to boil over. His knuckles whited around the stem of his wand, poised to unleash that something. He waited, waited for it to spill out, waited for it to take over, waited for it to bury him._

_But he swallowed it down, swiping at a stray tear that slipped down his cheek._

* * *

_Hermione kept her attention glued to the window as the rest of the students boarded the train, clutching the book he'd gifted her in her whited hands. Her compartment filled quickly and she made idle conversation, but averted her gaze at every hint of black that crossed into her peripheral. It was only when they had pulled away from Hogwarts that she allowed her eyes to wander, but she found even that to be dangerous._

_She was so close, only a little farther and she could truly rid herself of him. Hermione stuffed the first edition into the bottom of her bag as they approached London. Only a little farther and she would be home. She forced herself through the bustle of students exiting their compartments, hoping to be lost in the crowd. Only a little farther and she wouldn't have to think about him anymore. She stepped off the train at Nine and Three-Quarters and spotted her parents at the far end of the platform. Only a little farther and she could start piecing herself back together._

_She beamed at them, raising her hand to wave._

_Only a little farther and her life could begin again._

_A hand closed around her wrist and yanked her back. Hermione turned suddenly and found herself face to face with Draco. His chest heaved like he'd been running, his mouth parted like he meant to say something, and his eyes widened like he couldn't believe she was standing there before him._

_He stepped closer, but she shook her head and pulled herself free. She couldn't speak the words, but she didn't need to. It was all there, in the fierceness of her gaze, in the furrow of her brows, in the tremor of her lips; whatever it was, it was over._

_While he had been wasting his time agonizing over his decisions, he hadn't realized she had already made hers long ago. He had been so desperate to hold onto her, that he hadn't realized she had already slipped out of his grasp. He had been so focused on looking at the past, that he hadn't seen her running towards the future - running towards_ her _future, running away from him._

_Hermione turned back, pulling her luggage with her, and joined her parents. They smiled warmly at her, embraced her openly, spoke words that were soundless to him, but words that he knew were unburdened by deception or pain or loss._

_She didn't look behind her as they walked away, as they became lost in the scuffle of families rejoined, not even as they disappeared into King's Cross Station. She left Draco standing on the platform alone, his thumb tapping against his clenched fist, his heart hammering in his tightened chest, for the longest moment of his life. In that moment, he was watching a myriad of scenarios play out before him, a myriad of possibilities bloom around him, a myriad of opportunities open towards him. And in that moment, he saw the one scenario, the one possibility, the_ one _opportunity he would never have again._

_In that moment, he was struck with the revelation that while he'd been so worried about if this could go on, when it would have to end, how it would all transpire. . . he had failed to realize he might have fallen in love with Hermione Granger._

* * *

**SEVEN YEARS LATER**

Draco arrived frustrated and weary in the foyer of his house in the early hours of the morning. He had scarcely charmed his trunk into the study when he was already pulling at the knot of his tie. With a soft clack of his shoes, he ascended the large staircase, passing by a years long history in photos; the story of a life he didn't always recognize, but one that he had always dreamed of having. With each step he ascended, another memory played out; their first trip together - when she had surprised him in Brasov, Christmases with her family, Narcissa with a bundle in her arms, then Lucius with another, and, at the top, the moment they had bound themselves together. It was all there to remind him, to encourage him, to fulfill him.

Draco slipped off his suit coat and draped it over his arm as he turned down the hall. The room to the left glowed softly, invitingly, and he smiled to himself as he paused by the door. He dare not risk waking them at such an hour, no matter how much he had missed them, so he pushed himself forward to the room at the end of the hall. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him with a quiet click. She did not stir at the sound, nor when the floorboards creaked as he hung his suit coat beneath the dusty shelf that housed her beaded bag - of which, too, had gathered its fair share in its many years of retirement. She did not stir when he opened the drawer that encased his ties, storing the one he'd arrived home with beside the silver one he only brought out for special occasions. She did not stir as he changed into his wool trousers and set his wand on the nightstand. But when he slid beneath the thick comforter of their bed, she turned towards him, expectant hands reaching out.

" - t's the time?" Hermione mumbled.

"You don't want to know," he whispered, kissing the crown of her head as she curled against him.

"You said Saturday."

"I know I said Saturday," he chuckled, "I'm only a day late."

"I suppose it's alright," she said, her voice a drowsy lull, "We'll all be on holiday tomorrow anyways."

"Are they excited?"

"They didn't want to go to bed," a smile tugged at her lips and his thumb came up to trace the corner of it thoughtfully. She opened her eyes to peek at him, "But I told them you'd be very cross if they weren't asleep before you came home."

"Did you?" He raised a brow and she laughed softly.

"One day they'll figure out that you're incapable of telling them 'no,' but until then the threat of you being upset with them seems to be working very well."

"They should be far more scared of you."

"Don't be silly," she said flippantly, "I'm happy to be the favorite."

"The favorite?!" Draco asked incredulously.

"Of course," Hermione grinned cheekily, "They've told me so."

"Bollocks," his lips curled into a smirk, "That smart mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble, _Granger_."

She ran her fingers up the side of his neck and coiled them in his hair, the cut of her ring catching on a couple strands. Her muddy brown eyes flared as she gazed at him, the fire of her lust and love alighted by his words.

"Is that so, _Malfoy_?"

Draco leaned closer, stopping just short of claiming her lips, exchanging a fervent breath with her.

"Three months, Hermione."

"It would have been less if you'd come home yesterday," she taunted and his hand slipped beneath the duvet to squeeze her thigh.

"A day is long enough," he agreed with a growl, "But three months - ,"

"It's too long," she whispered, sliding her leg between his, "I know."

His fingers met the hem of her nightgown and he pushed it over her hips, finding only bare skin beneath.

"I need you," he said softly; it was an invitation, a promise, and Hermione nodded, lifting her lips to his.

"I need you, too."

Their passion erupted, their desire bloomed, and they collided together. There would always be uncertainty. There would always be doubt. There would always be fear and trepidation.

But not with them. The world would remark and criticize and scrutinize, and they would fall back into their bed. Into their arms.

Into their love.


End file.
